index
int64 0
56.6k
| thread_id
int64 0
1.54k
| message_id
int64 0
752
| author_id
int64 0
2.81k
| author_num_posts
int64 2
36k
| message
stringlengths 0
134k
| character
stringlengths 0
110k
|
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
9,400 | 267 | 5 | 1,802 | 272 | ((I hate First Posts...))
*Apophis*
Waking up he immediately clutched his belly! It felt like his ribs had been broken. And then as soon as it had happened it stopped. Opening his eyes his vision cleared and the world showed itself to him. A grotty sign half broken said WELCOME TO CHICAGO on it and he got up. Feeling awkward he just stood there trying to remember how he got there. Or was he a he? How could he tell? What was his name? So many questions. A raging voice started whispering to him in his head "Apep, Apep, Apep..." He whacked his head like you would a vending machine that stole your money and the insane whispering stopped. A poster passed his feet and he went to pick it up. It had mostly been destroyed from being rained on but one word remained, Ash. Well thats a good a name as any I suppose he thought in his head. Wanting to say something otherwise he felt like he'd go insane he shouted out "I AM ASH!!!!!" with his voice echoing out throughout the area. Suddenly, a gang came round a corner in suprise. "He's alive!!!" one of them shrieked and the other replied "Not for long" The man came at him and swung a crowbar at his head, instintivly he raised an arm to block it and the crowbar snapped in half. Suddenly an energy made him much stronger and faster and not knowing how sent a flurry of punches, kicks and head-butts at the other man until he was on the floor. He regained awareness with his teeth over the opponents life who was crying out for mercy. In wonder he started to step away but the whisper started again "NO Kill Him!" he resisted but his true nature (although he doesn't know it is) won. And his teeth finished the man off. The other members of the gang ran away as quick as they could after that. He fell over backwards wondering what he had done. He ran into the nearest ruined building, sat on a table and thought... | God Name: Bast/Bastet
Mortal Name: Yasmine
Origin: Egypt -- Cat Goddess of Music, Dance, and Fertility; Protector of the Household and Pregnant Women
Appearance:
God History: History
Personality: Independant and laid-back, Bast's nature is very similar to that of a cat's. She refuses to take commands, preferring to do things as she pleased and go at her own pace. However, she is far from lazy. In battle, Bast is as fierce as a lion. She's extremely protective of those she cares about, and will mercilessly take down anything that dares to hurt them.
Being a goddess of fertility and protector of pregnant women, Bast holds deep affection towards children. She'll often act like a mother towards those younger than her, and holds a patience towards those in pregnancy.
Bast is, to say the least, a sensual goddess. She's very playful, and will often flirt with everyone. Gods, goddesses, mortals -- she's never too shy about her various advancements.
Weapon:
Sistrum -- When played, this rattle-like instrument can lure in or summon felines, such as cats and even a lion, if Bast grows powerful enough. Further down the line, Bast can gain the ability to even transform into a feline form if the Sistrum is played and dance to.
Relationship/friendship: N/A
Other:
- Inhumanly agile and flexible
- Can heal mild illnesses and diseases
- Can lure or summon a feline companion
- Can later on gain the ability to change and alter her form to that of a cat or lion
- Likes cats. A lot. Like seriously, she's a fur filled house away from being a crazy cat lady. |
9,401 | 267 | 6 | 180 | 1,444 | KASIM, SOMEWHERE IN SEATTLE
“In the midst of chaos, there is also opportunity”
Bright light filled the void of darkness that seemed to be the only thing to exist before. He inhaled sharply, as if breathing was something he had not done for a long time. His senses slowly came about him as the light dulled and his vision focused to see where he was. It looked like a building, or perhaps what was left of one. The window to the outside world was shattered, the place appeared to be mostly ransacked, nothing left besides the bed he awoke on. Part of the ceiling was gone, revealing another floor above. He slowly sat up taking in the dead world he saw around him. This wasn't what it was suppose to be yet this what what the world had become.
Now that he saw where he was, he had to answer who he was, what was his name again? It was there somewhere in the back of his mind, something that started with a W, an odd name but it was his. Yet instead of finding that name he chose another. Kasim, yes that would be his name for the time, his name to survive in this new world. He stood up on shaky legs as if walking was a new concept to him but it didn't take long for him to understand his balance and began taking a greater look at the room. On the ground was a bag, perhaps it was his, perhaps it wasn't he could not remember but he took it with whatever was inside, figuring it could aid him with wherever he went now in this destroyed world. He left the room through a door that was shattered. The only sound to greet him was that of the wind howling through the forgotten hallways of the decaying building.
Kasim saw no one else as he made his way out of the building which involved taking the stairs, or what remained of them. He had been on the third floor of some apartment complex. Once reaching a door that led outside he saw the extent of the shape of this new world. It appeared so desolate so quite. Nothing seemed to stir, nothing except for the ever changing wind. It was calming as much as it was disturbing to him. He had his name and now saw the world he was in and had an idea on perhaps he was up against but now he had to decide where to go, and what his purpose now was.
"I must remember," he quietly said to himself deciding upon his purpose and then taking his first steps forward in this bizarre world. The only path to his goal could be forward.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
SCORN, LOCATION UNKNOWN (SINCE YOU KNOW DON"T KNOW A TEAM YET)
"Do you know the definition of insanity?"
The light blinded her and made her cringe when she first awoke. She would of preferred to sleep the day away but it felt like she had been sleeping a long time all ready, an excruciatingly long time. Why was that?
Bah who cares, she thought to herself sitting up. Other voices whispered in her head but she tuned those out as if they were some normal occurrence ,What to do now Scorn? What to do? Who is there to play with? The name just randomly came up without even thinking of it. It was foreign to her yet also fit her, like it was her's all along. There were other name's but they were as much dead to her as where they came from, wherever that was.
She stood up stretching, not taking much care in her surroundings as she headed off in search of people to play with to get her out of her new boredom. It didn't take long for her to find her new playmates, they made so much noise they could of woke the dead. The thought made Scorn laugh hysterically. Wake the dead, like they soon would be once she had her fun.
A group of three scavenged about some ruins, looking for supplies when she came upon them. She stuck in the shadow's only making her presence known when she laughed at her thoughts. This caused them to jump which made her oddly happy seeing them search in fear at the noise.
"Ah let's play a game," she said still hiding among st the shadows ",Why not tag, you're it and have to find innocent little me. Marco." She taunted while running around to make some noise to get them to follow. They said something to one another but she didn't care, it was time to wait and make her next move. Foolishly they split up, just what she wanted. One by one she would have her fun that she craved. The first one walked by the place she hid herself as she waited and with ease she came out and disarmed him before pinning him to the ground.
"To slow," she whispered with an evil grin hands reaching to the face with thumbs at his eyes. He screamed in agony, such sweet music to her ears as she pushed her thumbs down, the sickening blood painting her fingers red. The screams soon died until there was nothing.
"One down, two to go," she said getting up and skipping her way down the cracked pavement, the hunter's now becoming the hunted ",Now I'm it." She hummed to herself while she skipped.
The second scavenger was looking through a run down building for her the floor partially caved in to a basement that had dropped a bunch of nasty toys for Scorn's amusement. She stalked up and pushed the man in, no sound came from him as he was impaled upon the spikes.
"Now only one playmate remains," she said returning to the first scavenger's body to which she found her final friend ",Oh now this is fun. Who shall win I do wonder?" The man had a gun and fired at her but she ran taking cover behind the corner of the building she just appeared from and waited. The man crept forward, his footsteps loud enough to hear. The barrel peaked around the corner and Scorn grabbed it ripping it out of the man's hands and tossed it aside. They fought for a time but eventually Scorn came on top, hands around her prey's throat watching merrily as his life ebbed from his eyes.
"That was fun but the game is done so see you hun," she smirked once the last bit of life bled out of her prey. | God Name: Thor
Mortal Name: Tormun Askan
Origin/God of: Norse-God of thunder, lightning, storms, strength and war
Appearance: Looks to be in the late twenties. 6'4" tall with a muscular physique he seems to giant over others around him. He has shaggy blond hair. The skin on his face, and rest of his body, is pale white and his eyes are an ice blue. His face also has a broken nose, a small scar on his right cheek and an always smiling mouth. His arms are well muscled and extremely strong. His large barrel chest is toned and two tattoo adorn it. One is of two hammers crossed, with the words 'Strength and Honour' written over the top, and is over his heart. The other is on his back and shows the face of two goats, their horns interlocked. He woke up wearing black jeans, t-shirt and a bright red zip-up hoody that flaps around in the slightest wind.
Personality: Loud and boisterous he can never back down from a challenge. While he may be loud he does love to spend time by himself. Quick to anger but just as quick to calm down his anger normally only lasts a few seconds or until the fight is over.
Weapon(s) : Hammer called Mjollnir (can change size), gloves called Megingjard (improves his strength)
Relationships/friendships:
Other: Is an alcoholic.
God Name: Xuan Wu
Mortal Name: Xavier Windsor
Origin/God of: Chinese-God of martial arts and war. He can't be defeated due to his strategic mind and his fighting prowess. Knows all types of fighting styles and is normally a master of all.
Apperance: Looks to be around young twenties. At 5'6" he is of slightly smaller than average height and is skinny. His lack of muscles makes him extremely fast and agile which comes in useful when fighting. He has black eyes, long black hair that is usually tied in a ponytail but comes loose often, and a small scar over his lip. His chest and arms are tattoed, His chest is covered in tattoos of weapons while his arms are tattooed with an image of a snake and a turtle. He woke up wearing black jeans, t-shirt and hood.
Personality: Quiet and driven he normally hangs at the back of any group and observe. Hard to anger but once angered he takes time to calm down.
Weapon(s): Black Wudang sword, his martial art skills and his chi.
Relationships/friendships:
Other: Doesn't get jokes very well. His snake tattoo will be able to come to life and help him in fights; spitting poison, biting enemies, crushing enemies. His sword changes to any weapon he has fought with before. |
9,402 | 267 | 7 | 1,918 | 8,265 | Somewhere in Phoenix, Arizona
He woke with a jolt, his eyes opening to see an clear blue sky overhead, the harsh light of the sun beating down savagely upon his head. Instead of discomfort, however, the oppressive heat and the dry, moisture free heat of the day brought a sense of peace over him. He let out a contented sigh before rising to a sitting position. No thoughts whispered into his mind, as it was empty of everything but a name: Jayden. It was who he was, and yet, it was who he wasn't. An odd statement to consider, but it was the only thing that could explain his feeling of confusion. Alas, his peace was not to last, as he felt something get pressed up against his head, a voice talking to him from behind.
"Well now, looks like you're alive after all. Too bad you won't be for much longer. Stand up, or I'll paint the dirt with your brain right here and now."
The man didn't say a word, rising slowly from his position on the ground. Something about this gunman's tone irked him, but he could figure out what. Some part of his kind was wondering why he wasn't freaking out as it seemed like his life was about to come to an abrupt an immediate so soon after beginning. However, even as the gunman started talking, presumably to give demands, he was trying to figure out what it was about the man that bothered him so. After what seemed like an eternity, it finally hit him, as did the gunman's, obviously pissed that this strange man was ignoring him.
"Hey, where do you get off spacing out while I got a gun to your head, dumb bast-AAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGHHHHH!"
Before the gun men had a chance to react, the mysterious man had turned the tables in him, turning around swiftly to grab his arm and breaking it at the elbow after locking it with his arms via a solid strike to it. Now he was left rolling on the ground, holding his unnaturally bent limb while the man played with the gun he'd retrieved from the attempted robber. After turning it around a few times, he held it firmly in his hand, finger on the triggers as he turned to his aggressor turned victim, a sadistic smile on his face as he pointed the firearm at the pathetic figure.
"You're much too pathetic to think you can command me around, and I think a punishment is in order for your transgressions." Jayden gets ready like he's about to shoot the man, but the gun suddenly crumbles away into sand, slowly at first, but soon it gets overtaken by his power. The sand particles whirl around his hand, the smile never fading as he brings it down on the gunman's face, his look of horror only souring Jayden on as he made use of his suddenly discovered power, more of a instinctual decision than a thought out one, and that same instinct guided his actions as the sand began to spin wildly around his victim's face.
Soon, screams of pain would fill the air as gunman was killed, slowly and painfully having his face shredded apart by a mini sandstorm. After there was nothing left of the flesh, Jayden was surprised to hear a faint moan from the body, though it was quick to turn into dark amusement.
"Well now, looks like you're still alive. Too bad you won't be for much longer." He spoke in mocking pantomime of his victim's words, before turning away from the dying man, the sand flowing around him now bathed the most delightful shade of red. What a magnificent color, so full of passion, vitality, and emotion. I don't think a more beautiful color exist then that of the blood that gives us life. And all that is red belongs to me, for I . . . am Set.
Another name, but this one made him feel full and alive. And as he walked away from the corpse of his victim, he spied a couple of bag in the distance, guarded by a strange hound, looking closer to a wolf, except that it's fur was the most curious shade; a deep blood red that was solid through out it's form. A curious thing, as he doubted that dogs were normally of such coloration, but he shrugged it off, reaching out to pet the beast as he passed before collecting one of the bags. It was a dark red, nearly black, and attached to it's side was an odd curved sword, which he took in hand with a smile, enjoying the familiar feel of the blade in hand.
Now armed with a good weapon of his own, he walked off in a random direction, now noticing that he and that bandit had been in the middle of a road, leading to a city he somehow knew was Phoenix. Instead of taking the road, however, he took his own path, walking for an unknown distance across the desert until he came upon an orchard of somekind. He didn't know how he knew of this place, only that his senses had led him here. Something was here, he could feel in his bones.
While he waited for something to happen, though he didn't know what, he reached out to pick one of the fruits, only to hear the sound of rushing footsteps. Turning around, he is suddenly plowed over by a running figure, both falling to the ground behind a small patch of overgrowth. The stranger's mouth was covered to keep them quite, the blade at their neck to assure their silence as some men ran by, seeming to be looking for something, before rushing off after their supposed quarry.
Once they were gone, Set looked down at his captive, eyes shining with a mischievous glimmer as he slowly took the blade and sheathed it, flipping their positions so that the stranger, a beautiful raven-haired woman, was underneath him. They'd stay this way for a bit longer, gazing at her with a enchanted curiousity. As he did so, the woman would get the chance to study her savior(?). He was a caucasian man with slightly tanned skin, his eyes a deep red in color as he gazed down at her. His hair was a chaotic mess of wild locks that went down to his chin, taking on a bright red coloration. His eyes were lined with thick black-lines, further accentuating their unnatural color. His feature were also somewhat angled and sharp, giving him a rather sly look to his face, one that spoke of mischief and wrong doing. His clothes were rather light, being only a red jacket, some boots, and jeans. His jacket was open, with only his bare skin underneath, his thin body being packed with lean muscle. Along with all of this was an intimidating presence he had, which radiated danger and warning without his conscious effort.
After so long without words, Set simply chuckled before getting up, offering a hand to help the woman up. Whether she accepted her help or not, he'd then give a small nod in the direction of the bandits, the grin never leaving his face.
"I'm guessing they're not friends of yours. Lucky thing you ran into me, or who knows what might have happened. A stroke of luck, or maybe this is a fated encounter? Whatever the matter, I guess we should introduce ourselves. My name is Jayden, what's yours?" | CS:
God Name:Set
Mortal Name: Jayden
Origin/God of: Egyptian God of Deserts, Storms, Chaos, Foreigners, and War.
Apperance:
God history: can be a link, or you can use your knowledge! haha
Personality:Jayden/Set is a bit reckless and wild, overcome with a desire to live free and by his own rules. He always tries to be the head of the pack, and doesn't take kindly to having that position challenged. When it comes to fighting, you'll never find him seem more alive, as bloodshed just brings a smile to his face that begets a disturbing serenity in the chaos that is him. He also a quick wit and some what sarcastic, quick to make a joke at another expense the moment he sees the opportunity.
However, despite these qualities, Set isn't that bad of a guy. While he shouldn't be trusted in most situations, he knows his duty and will always seek to fulfil it. He can be very protective over those he cares for or feels duty bound to help, and any who seek to harm those under his protection will have the sands turned red with thèir blood for their transgressions.
Weapons:A Khopesh and his Signature beast, the Set Animal
Relationships/friendships: Anubis=It's complicated
Other:As a god of the Desert, he brings it everywhere he goes, able to turn any inorganic material into Sand with but a touch and enough focus. This and all sand is at his beck and call, able to bend to his will if enough focus is put into it. At the start, he can't control much more than a mound half his size and it takes some concentration to move it, though not as much as it takes to create sand. Once created, however, it will always follow him, melding with his skin until it's time to be called forth once again.
Aside from that, he's also a natural skilled fighter, able to use any weapon placed on his hands with much skill, though he holds a preference for melee combat. Along with this is his animal companion, The Set Animal, who takes the form of a large fog when it's not in battle. When ever it's master is in trouble, however, he can transform into a somewhat larger beast with a head similar to a jackal with long ears and a mouth full of teeth. The Set animal is a dangerous beast, having increases stength, speed, and durability when compared to other animals, and having all the ferocity of a Sandstorm as well, making it a for e to be reckoned with.
((Appearances and History to come later))
CS:
God Name:Quetzalcoatl
Mortal Name: Damian
Origin/God of: Aztec God of the West Wind, the Morning Star/The Dawn, Justice , Priesthood, Learning, and the Arts
Apperance:Damian is a tall, if skinny man at around 6'2, with a somewhat muscular frame. His skin is a dark tan color and his face is rather handsome in it's own way. His eyes are a deep jade green, the pupils being only slightly elongated in comparison to the normal human eye, his hair was coarse as it swept it's way across it's head in a vibrant array of colors, mostly a mix of reds, blues, and dark greens, though a few others were in there as well. His teeth are mostly normal except for his canines, which are thinner than normal and rather sharp at the point, like pseudo-fangs.
Also, across his torso and upper arms are a number of scale-like tattoos.
God history: can be a link, or you can use your knowledge! haha
Personality:Damian/Quetzalcoatl is a very intellectual individual, always eager to learn as much as he can, and teach others what he's discovered. He's a very cheerful, upbeat guy who keeps a shroud of optimism even in these dark times. He always is on the look out for something beautiful to capture it's image in a painting or drawing of somekind.
Damian/Queztalcoatl abhors needless violence, finding such acts appalling and those who commit them to be disdainful and savage. That being said, if it's in the defense of someone else, he'll fight to the bitter end until righteousness prevails, or he dies trying to preserve it.
Weapon(s) :He has no weapons truly, but he does posses a Aztec Wind Jewel(a conch shell that's been cut in half to show a spiral design) which helps him focus his powers and he can listen to see if he can learn any bits of knowledge caught by the west wind.
Relationships/friendships: Can be progressed through the RP, mostly made for which characters you have a connection with
Other:
He's able to manipulate the wind and air to his whims, currently all he can do is push people around with sudden gusts, but if he focuses on his gem he can channel those gusts in to blades and drills, though it's more tiring. He can also take strength from the stars, either to make him momentarily shine brightly like a human-sized flash bang, or use it to form weaponry out of starlight, though this is his most draining ability and can only be done for a short time before he falls unconscious, at the moment, anyway.
He can also communicate with birds and reptiles to an extent, though translating the knowledge he gains to others is difficult due to the differences in how the creatures process information. Any of his offense powers are more effective against forces of evil than other things, as their essence is being exercised by the power of his inner light. |
9,403 | 267 | 8 | 269 | 2,334 | Sin/Sebastian
You are Sin.
I awake with a start, having apparently fallen asleep in the middle of reading something. Except there's nothing in front of me, and I don't remember coming here at all, so the only reason I can assume I was reading is the fact that I'm actually in a library at the moment. I seem to be in the central area of said library, sat on a blue plastic chair at a round plastic table, located near several other round plastic tables surrounded by other blue plastic chairs, with mostly-empty bookshelves spanning around them all. All in all, not where I picture myself being in five years time.
Or maybe it is. Apparently, I'm called Sin? I don't know what that's referring to, but somehow, that doesn't sound like the Bible definition of the word...
"Hey, you!"
I turn to face the sound of the sudden call, to find a young man in a leather jacket and jeans, with a rifle pointed at me. I have no idea what he's doing here, but since he is in fact pointing a gun in my direction, I slowly raise my hands into the air next to my head, just to show that I'm not doing anything suspicious. He heads toward me a few steps, then lowers the gun barrel and says "Alright, just checking you're not a zombie. I thought you were dead?"
It takes me a moment to respond. It feels like I haven't said anything in... well, a very long time. "I, uh... well, I'm clearly not, so that's a start."
"Yeah, it... wait, hold on, hold on... aren't you that one guy, uh... head of that company Syn Inc., before it went bust... damn, what was the name of that guy...?"
You are also Sebastian Verlak.
"Ah, Sebastian?" I propose, deciding that a name given to me by my subconscious is as good as any.
"Yeah, him! Probably. I'll have to check later, uh... man, I thought you were dead."
"You said that already."
"No, no, but, like, years ago, I think- I'm pretty sure they had a big old funeral for you and everything... I mean, before the end of the world, even!"
End of... ah, yes. That's a state of affairs too, so far as my subconscious is aware.
"Well. I'm evidently still here, so..."
"...yyyeaaah," he says awkwardly, "well, uh... I mean, you're the CEO of that company, then, or- or ex-CEO anyway, since it's collapsed due to... y'know... um..."
There's another awkward pause for a bit; then he slowly points the rifle in my direction again, a grim expression on his face. He's so young, but it's clear he's been marked by years of acts like... this.
"Are you really going to shoot an old man, sir?" I ask quietly. Sadly, almost. It's a shame, what some are driven to in desperate times.
"I'd rather not. But, uh... you're rich. You probably have, uh... well, you have nice clothes, at least. Don't know what else. I want them."
I look down at myself, checking my pockets for... a wallet? No. Keys? Nope. Anything resembling supplies, maybe food or water? Nil, nada, zip. Which leaves my clothes... very nice clothes, in face. A businessman's suit, very professional. A pity I'll have to lose it in just a-
...now what is that clopping sound? I look up at the same moment as my would-be mugger turns round, to see... oh my.
"...that's a bull," he points out, stating the obvious. Yes, it is a bull, a bull's shadow... what's it doing up here?
"What the hell is a bull doing up here...?" the thief begins to ask, echoing my thoughts, but quickly decides he doesn't want to be near the bull in question, and with a final glance over at me, as if saying "let's try not to cross paths again", runs away from the area and out of the building. The bull rounds the corner... aaand it's much smaller than it looked. No more than a calf, actually, and one eager to scramble over to me, stopping just near me as I stand up to get a better look at it. It- no, no, he's quite beautiful, I must say; his fur is a gorgeous deep brown, more horse-like than cattle-like, and he's staring at me with... something almost resembling intelligence? I'm not quite sure, but I could swear this is no ordinary cattle. The only real deformity he has are slight bumps on his shoulderblades... I wonder whether those'll affect him as he grows up? Either way, I feel an affinity with this calf. I'm going to let him stay with me, if he likes; I'd like to see how he develops.
Speaking of time passing, I wonder if I should get out of here? And where am I, anyway? In terms of geology, rather than of terminology. A glance out the nearest window (not as close as I might like, mind) tells me nothing much, aside from that this city is a rather worn-down place; thus, if I am to figure it out, I'd best get moving. I can't imagine the library will be much use, given how bookless it is; I therefore decide to head down to the ground floor, carrying the calf in my arms as I walk down the stairs- I believe cattle can't actually go down stairwells due to their leg structure, and it's not too much trouble for me to do this at the moment anyway- and eventually emerge at street level. Still not sure where I am, but hey, maybe if I walk around long enough, I'll figure something out. Maybe even find somebody who doesn't wish to kill me for my clothes. Only time will tell.
Marduk/Jonathan
You are Marduk.
"Who the hell is this?" I hear. I'm cold, though not hideously so; for now, I can handle remaining absolutely still with my eyes closed in order to listen to what's happening around me.
"I dunno... he looks rich as fuck, though. We gonna frisk him?"
"No shit. He's probably loaded with cash."
"Oh, I know who he is! Jonathan Morganson, the guy who owned Morningstar Industries before it went bust!"
You are also Jonathan Morganson.
"I have... never heard of that."
"Yeah, of course you haven't, Bill! You're as dumb and uncultured as a fucking rock. Now help me find his stuff..."
I feel a great many hands patting me down, feeling into pockets and pushing up bits of clothing. How dare they? How dare they touch me? If I weren't still invested in listening to them, I'd beat them all down right here... I'm not sure why I feel like that, but how DARE they?
"Ah, there's nothing on him. Fuckin' cheapskate bastard, why the hell's he unconscious here anyway?"
He dares to insult ME?! Does he know-
"I'm gonna put my dick in his mouth."
...what.
"What the- Larry, the fuck's wrong with you? He's a guy, and also probably dead!"
"Nawww, it'll be fine! He's alive, I felt a pulse."
"You FELT A- you could've said- I mean he did feel a bit warm for a... a dead guy- tha-that's not the point, why do you want to put your-"
"'cause it'll be funny as hell, that's why! Now watch, watch..."
Well, I'm going to kill that man. I can tell roughly where he is just by the sound he's making; all I need to do now is wait, untillll...
There's the sound of a zipper. Abruptly, before "Larry" can utter more than "Wha-", I snap my eyes open and swing my fist round into his groin, nailing his genitalia directly. He collapses with nary more than a whine of pain, and I knock him out him with a return blow to the temple as I stand, towering over these other gentlemen as they stare, awed at my sudden awakening.
"...what the fuck?! You son of a bitch!" one of them yells, drawing a gun on me; as though by sheer muscle memory, I charge him before he can aim the weapon, knocking him down and snatching the gun from him, then pressing it against his forehead whilst he's dazed and shooting once. Blood sprays across myself and the ground, ruining my suit- apparently, I'm a man of very high standing- and with my sudden bloodlust sated for the moment, I stand and face the others, who have all drawn weapons of their own - knives, bats, sticks with nails in them, but no other guns. And they fucking know they're in trouble, too.
"Uh- uh- d-drop the gun, man!" one of them demands. "We outnumber you, there's no way you can kill us all!" At this, I laugh uproariously. "You couldn't stop me from killing one of you when you did have a gun," I explain to them in a gloating tone. "Which of you is willing to die to try and take me out now that you don't, and who's willing to bet that I cannot, in fact, shoot every last one of you before you get to me?"
Honestly, I'm not sure why I'm so confident. I figure it's a natural trait of mine, to be frank; I'm able to gloat about topics like this, I was apparently the head of a company prior to the apocalypse that seems to have occurred, and I clearly have at least the the skill and muscle to deal out devastating surprise attacks, so clearly, confidence becomes me. It does not become them, though; with one of their gang members just starting to wake up with a headache, possibly a concussion, and little chance of reproduction in the future, and another killed outright, there's only five of them remaining. They take many glances at one another, uncertain for a short while, before their morale finally breaks, and they run off as one mass, swiftly followed by Larry at a limping pace as he struggles to remain on his feet. Now, I'm evidently not too fond of people who try to put their genitals in my orifices without my permission, so I aim at Larry as he tries to run, and fire a second bullet, downing him outright. His companions leave him to die, and I then kneel down next to my first victim, frisking his body for... ah, ammunition cases. Three of them, in fact. Perfect. I take them, slip them in the pockets of my suit, and then look at my surroundings. One corpse and one soon-to-be corpse aside, it's just buildings. Quite tall buildings, actually. So that tells me...
...that I'm in a city.
Yeah okay I have no idea where I am. Oh well, I at least have something to protect myself with. Flicking the safety on the side of the gun and placing it into the right-hand pocket of my trousers- probably not safe, but where else will I put it?- I walk in the opposite direction to the gang, ready to take on this world of... gangs. Apparently. I don't know, maybe it's just that one group, but somehow, I think I'd almost be happier if it wasn't...
So there's my starting posts for Sin and Marduk, with appropriate hooks for their respective groups, in the form of a guy riding round the city on a flying bull and a lightning bolt beacon with yelled challenge. As proposed/stated by earlier on, possibly in the interest check, the deities are not the "real" Sebastian Verlak or Jonathan Morganson; they presumably both died before the apocalypse came about, and their respective companies presumably died with said apocalypse, so the two characters have only inherited their forms and names. So yeah, this should all be well and good. | God Name: Sin, a.k.a. Su'en, Nanna, Nanna-Su'en, En-zu
Mortal Name: Sebastian
Origin/God of: Mesopotamian god of wisdom and the moon
Appearance: Male, white, 180cm tall, and reasonably muscular (if apparently flagging from old age), with grey hair in a combover, a well-groomed and pointed beard running down to his solar plexus, and pale grey eyes. Wears a lapis blue businessman's suit over a white cotton shirt and blue-and-black checked tie, as well as darker blue socks and black shoes, all of apparently very high-quality build and tailor, as though he had spent an exorbitant amount of money upon them.
God history: Infodump.
Personality: Sin/Sebastian tends to be fairly friendly to most people, seeing no reason not to be when they've done him no particular wrong. In combination with a very significant amount of knowledge and instinctive ability to use that knowledge, he tends to naturally find himself in a leaderly position in any groups he is part of, and will often try to plan out tactics and strategies for anyone he is travelling with before any major actions are engaged in. That being said, he is definitely not a fighter, and will tend to stay back and perhaps give orders when a fight does break out, though he won't outright run from such a situation unless he is actively threatened with no reasonable defense.
Weapon(s): None specifically, though his superb knowledge regarding various subjects is not to be scoffed at. However, he does own a winged bull that is about as potentially lethal as any normal bull and can of course fly quite well even whilst carrying his weight; occasionally, he may also summon a sickle to wield on account of his association with the crescent moon, though this is evidently not the greatest weapon in existence, being intended as a farming tool, and will generally only be brought out as a last resort.
Relationships/friendships: Enlil (father), Ninlil (mother), Ningal (wife), Utu, Shamash (sons), Inanna, Ishtar (daughters)
God Name: Marduk, a.k.a. Martuk, Marutuk, amar-Utu (solar calf), Merodach, Mardochaios, Mĕrôdāk, Marōdak, Bel and variations therein (lord); various additional names to the number of fifty
Mortal Name: Jonathan
Origin/God of: Mesopotamian god of water, vegetation, judgement, and magic; patron deity of the city of Babylon. Different pantheon to Sin.
Appearance: Male, white, 185cm tall, and extremely well-toned, with slicked-back black hair, a clean-shaven face, and piercing green eyes. Wears a black businessman's suit and tie, alongside a white shirt, white socks, and black shoes, all of apparently very high-quality build and tailor, as though a large sum of money had been spent on them.
God history: Infodump.
Personality: Marduk/Jonathan is a surprisingly aggressive fellow. What little he presently remembers of his past has him being a leader and a conquerer, and this shows in his actions - though he is typically a "good guy" within his own stories, he is currently quick to anger, quick to judge, and very quick to lash out if insulted. That being said, he does try to be civil to the best of his abilities, and is a surprisingly capable warrior-leader, though his rather expansionistic past has resulted in a desire to always have more; as a deity for whom "more" translates to "everything everywhere" without any particular distinction or the present power to acquire such, he can often be found training his abilities and fighting skill, and will often be found flirting or coming on to both men and women when he is not doing either of these.
Weapon(s): Marduk's weapons are many and varied. The more mundane of his weapons include a bow and arrows, a mace, a spade, and a net that seems to be capable of growing to whatever size is needed to ensnare a foe, whilst his more magic-oriented weapons include a storm-chariot drawn by four poison-mouthed horses (specifically, they may spit a terrifically strong necrotic venom at foes or bite them to inject it), and magical control over many elemental forces such as lightning, fire, wind and water, which he can weave into a variety of forms, with specific powers being the capacity to trap others with wind, resistance or even immunity to poison, and the capacity to "fill himself" with a given element, and thus transform into something like what modern-day humans would refer to as an elemental. His strongest magics, including storm winds such as tornadoes and his ultimate power of the rain-flood, as well as his additional symbol of a snake-dragon capable of flight and fire-breathing amongst other traits, are currently inaccessible to him, but he is nevertheless a force to be reckoned with, especially since he may also summon unto himself the Tablet of Destinies, something intended to grant control over all the universe to whosoever wields it... and which currently seems to be a dead lump of cooked clay, unfortunately. Or maybe it always was, and was just a legal document stating that the owner legally ruled the universe; he's not quite sure at this point in time, but he is sure that its legal ramifications are meaningless in the world's current state, so he doesn't typically bring it out. Y'know, just in case.
Relationships/friendships: Ea (father and successor as pantheon head), Damkina (mother), Ṣarpanitum (wife), Nabu (son and co-regent), Ashur (rival), Tiamat and Kingu (enemies, previously defeated in battle)
Other: As he remembers more of his history, Marduk may well end up becoming a more balanced individual personality-wise. Or maybe he won't. We simply don't know. |
9,404 | 267 | 9 | 1,918 | 8,265 | Xavier-Seattle
Jolting awake he wondered where he was, who he was and how he had gotten to where he was now. Standing with aching joint and a sore chest, he looked around his surrounding with black eyes. He seemed to be in the bathtub of a dingy bathroom. Groaning as he heaved himself out of the tub to stand on the rough mildew covered carpet he looked around at the walls, with black mould covering the majority of the surface like a weird furry wallpaper. He lurched and staggered to the mirror and sink, holding onto the white porcelain for dear life. Staring into the mirror he looked at his face. Asian. Almond eyes with black pupils and iris’. Slight scar on his lip. It was only as he looked around behind his reflection did he notice there was no lights on inside the bathroom. As he sighed trying to answer the questions in his mind, where he was, how he had gotten here, why he was there at all and who he was, his breath fogged the mirrored surface. His fingers deftly wrote the words ‘Xavier Windsor’ on the cold surface. Xavier smiled grimly too himself. That was one question answered, only a couple hundred more to go.
Noticing the door beside him he slowly turned the cold brass handle before slipping outside the bathroom. Xavier glanced around the hall, his breath misting up in front of him. He looked down and was glad to see warm clothes on his body, black jeans and t-shirt, black canvas shoes and a nice warm hoody, black as well. As he turned his head side to side, cracking his neck with small pops a lock of hair fell in front of his face. His hand tentatively reached up and pulled his long black hair from behind his head to his right shoulder. A small silver dragon pin with a jade ball in its mouth felt heavy in his pocket until he pulled it out. His hands deftly put his hair in a topknot, the pin securing it in place, as if he had done it a million times. Shaking his head in bemusement, he stepped carefully into the hall. The wood creaked ever so slightly as he walked gently towards the stairs. The stairs barely made a sound and Xavier found himself in another hall on the bottom floor. Through the front door no light came in, the inky blackness of night visible to him. As he tiptoed around the hall, checking each door with a small jiggle of the doorknob only one opened up so Xavier stepped into it. The warm heat from a wood fire hit him like a warm blanket. Closing the door behind him Xavier explored the new room. Trophy heads of animals hung on the walls and old-fashioned rifles adorned the walls. Xavier disregarded them and huddled near the wood fire in a large leather sofa. Warm and comfortable Xavier felt like there were weights on his eyelids. Succumbing to sleep Xavier rested against the sofa near the fire.
Xavier woke up with a muffled cry. A throbbing in his head made lit feel like a war drum was beating in his mind. His arms were bign held down by two knees against the arms of the sofa. A rough hand was covering his mouth and what felt like a knife blade was pressing against his neck, a small trickle of warm blood already trickling down his neck, but Xavier felt strangely calm. Rough voices assaulted his ringing ears. His dry mouth seemed to suck in the warm air of the room like a pair of bellows. Opening his eyes slowly he blinked at the bright light around him. He saw through misty vision two guys in front of him, one dressed in a plaid shirt and the other wearing a too large jumper. The man with the jumper, his face scarred and bearded, was staring at Xavier then slapped him hard.
“You ‘wake you little shit. Think you can ‘ide in our base and steal our shit with out getting beaten. I don’t think so. It’s four of us and one of you, so don’t even try and put up a fight…yet.” Jumper-man leaned forward closer and shook Xavier’s head roughly. “What’s yer name? Where you from? Why you ‘ere?”
As Xavier blinked slow and hard he thought about the questions. The blade was removed from his throat so he could answer but two strong grips squeezed his shoulders roughly. His voice sounded weird too him, different from the accent of the man who spoke to him. It took him a while to place it but he finally figured it out, English. “Xavier. What’s yours?”
A punch to Xavier’s guts shut him up as the man spoke again. “Shut it …Xavier. We ask the question ‘ere, not you!” Jumper-man turned around and picked up a black backpack and a sword, the handle black leather and the scabbard made out of black-stained wood. “We found yer shit in the bathroom. Got a sword and everything don’t ya. Proper little warrior aren’t you.” As he pulled the sword out of the scabbard the black blade seemed to absorb the light of the room. Silver etchings shimmered with designs of a turtle and a snake. Xavier tried lunge for the blade but two strong hands pulled him back down into the sofa. “Let go of that!” His voice filled with rage Xavier glared at jumper-man.
The man in the plaid shirt spoke up for the first time. “Hey boss, how about we make him fight for his freedom?” The jumper-man turned and grinned at the man in the plaid shirt, “good idea Jimmy.” Turning back to face Xavier he spoke. “Alright, we will let you go, with yer gear. Cant say we aint fair and all that, if you fight us. We’ll even give you yer sword back. Whadya say?”
Xavier felt calmly reassured by the prospect of fighting for his freedom. A simple nod and the hands from his shoulders released him and pushed him out of the sofa. Turning around to face the two people who held him down he saw one was a skinny female and the other a large giant of a man, the two obviously brother and sister. As Xavier turned around his eyes went cross-eyed as he stared down the length of the black sword. Jumper man grinned nastily, “or we could just kill you now and save us the trouble.” Protests came from the other three, mainly from the man in the shirt. Shaking his head jumper-man laughed, his voice mocking, “nah we’ll fight ya. Be fun to practice.” As jumper-man slowly sheathed the blade and dropped it to the floor the others grinned and grabbed their weapons. The brother grabbed a metal baseball bat, the sister a small hunting bow and the man in the plaid shirt a large pair of machetes. The jumper man just pulled a pair of solid looking brass knuckle-dusters out and slipped them over his thick sausage like fingers. Xavier stooped to pick the sword up and the moment he touched the handle he felt more alert, more alive. As the four strangers lined up on the opposite side of the room Xavier unsheathed the blade, letting the scabbard drop to the floor.
Xavier walked out of the house, his backpack stuffed with tinned food and water. His sword was strapped to his back between the pack and his back. The blade was clean of all blood as the sword seemed to have drank it. As he ran in the cold night air, his hood pulled up over his face, Xavier smiled.
Tormund-Phoenix
He woke up as if from a deep sleep. He lay on his back staring, his legs a tangle and his arms resting behind his head. The hard surface beneath him felt wooden, solid and warm. He was inside a building but the hole in the roof framed him in a rough circle of light. The hole had jagged edges, metal rods visible inside the concrete. Through the hole above him the sky looked clear, the sun beating down mercilessly and not a cloud in sight. He got up with a groan, propping himself up with one hand. He was on a desk, a metre off the cracked concrete floor. Turning his head from side to side he saw tables, office chairs, monitors. All broken. Frames and partitions were smashed and burnt, glass lay strewn on the ground like jagged knives. The red backpack by his side had a scrap of paper attached, fluttering in the breeze like a miniature flag. Ripping it off he read it, Tormund Askan. A faint memory stirred in his mind but he couldn’t remember it.
A large clear water jug lay on the ground a few metres away, half full. It was only as he saw it that Tormund realized how thirsty he was. Already small sweat rivulets were trickling down his forehead. As he hopped off the table and staggered over weakly he picked the jug up with ease, a surprise to him as even he knew a half full jug of water should be heavier than what it felt like. Disregarding the thought he drank the water without stopping once. The tepid water felt lovely trickling down his throat slowly waking him up. His pale skin felt tingly as he poured some water over his face. Once finished the jug fell to the floor with a loud hollow clatter as Tormund let it go.
A squawk made him turn around startled. Through the empty glass frame, of a floor-to-ceiling window, an eagle flew in and landed on the edge of a wooden table he had been laying on only a few minutes before. It cried loudly, the cry echoing around the room, before bobbing its head almost like it was bow. Its long hooked beak held a leather cord with a metal amulet at the end. It dropped it on the table before flying out off the window. Tormund walked slowly too it, stepping carefully over the jagged glass and picked the amulet up.
A simple t-shaped design with intricate etchings in the metal but he just knew what it was. “Mjollnir!” his cry was both a mix of surprise, wonder and gladness. He slipped the cord around his head and tucked the amulet into his clothes. Looking down he looked at his clothes for the first time, black jeans, a white t-shirt and a zip-up hoody. A large black belt with silver etchings of celtic designs held his jeans up. Sturdy looking black army boots covered his feet and black & silver leather gloves covered his hands, they were both extremely comfy. He wiggled his toes and fingers, a smile forming on his face for no reason.
Popping his head out of the window. Tormund looked down and grinned harder. The height of the building didn’t really bother him, the 40 stories or so seemed insignificant too him. Hanging off the frame he swung into the free space, one arm and leg hanging in free air. The large silver letters on the side of the building said CHASE so Tormund assumed that was the name of the building. Swinging back in he cried into the wind happily, exhilarated by his experience of swinging out of the building. He headed back to the back pack and placed it on the desk. Opening he lay out the stuff inside on to the table. Food, water, a bottle of vodka, a knife and some other tools. He took off his hoody while his pack was off and tied it around his waist. Around his arm to arm torques made of gold, one of two goats both with eyes of black onyx and the other a snake with rubies for eyes, twisting around his muscled forarms. Repacking it he decided to head out down and find what was going on. He couldn’t think where he was, why he was there or who he was really. Come on nobody is called Tormund Askan, he had to have another name.
His pack on his back, where it should be, he walked slowly around the large room clambering over each obstacle slowly. As he got to the doors, the words ‘tairs’ written in flaking sticker and pushed them opened he yelped in surprise. The doorway opened into open space, there was no way of getting down via the stairs, no rails, no supports he could hold onto, no concrete at all for a long way down. Backing away slowly he looked around for another exit. Two silver doors partially opened were by the ‘tairs’ doors. He grabbed one and heaved with all his strength. Surprisingly easily the door slid open easily. The light from the smashed windows partially illuminated the black abyss that was the elevator shaft. A thick metal cable could be seen in the middle. Sticking his head into the blackness he looked up, the underside of a lift visible. Looking down as far as he could there seemed to be nothing but metal cable. “Why?” he moaned to himself before backing up a few steps. He hoped that his gloves would be able to handle the cable.
As he ran forward and jumped into the darkness his body slammed into the cable. It was more solid than it thought and was like running into a tree, hard. As he started falling he let out a yell of delight. The feel of air rushing around him felt good, better than good it felt awesome. Occasional shafts of lights from open doorways would blind him. A sense, a small tingle in his brain, told him that he was near to the ground. Squeezing his hands around the cable as hard as he could he slowed himself down to a halt, outside a doorway. A quick swing and he was in the doorframe. His gloves oddly were unmarked, and his boots just had a blob of grease on the soles. Wiping them off he looked around.
The marble foyer was trashed, the tables strewn around. Holes, Tormund assumed them arrow holes, pockmarked the walls and large metal drums covered in soot and ash were placed out of the wind and sun. As he walked through the empty glass doorway and onto the street he looked left and right. Paper flew around and the road was covered in a layer of sand. His hand went and touched the hammer unconsciously as he walked slowly on the pavement. A cracked piece of reflective glass stood against the wall. He looked into the reflection, seeing his body fully for the first time. He was well muscled, and tall. His hair was long and shaggy and his beard was held midway with a small gold ring. His cheek had a scar on it and his eyes were pale blue, really pale it seemed.
Off in the distance he heard the sound of footsteps. Tormund had two options, run away from the sound or go see what was causing the running. He chose the latter, he wanted company and he wanted answers. Touching his amulet once again he stepped forward towards the sound of running. As he rounded corner he heard voices. His hands forming in large hammer-like fists he shuffled forwards towards them. “Hello?” | CS:
God Name:Set
Mortal Name: Jayden
Origin/God of: Egyptian God of Deserts, Storms, Chaos, Foreigners, and War.
Apperance:
God history: can be a link, or you can use your knowledge! haha
Personality:Jayden/Set is a bit reckless and wild, overcome with a desire to live free and by his own rules. He always tries to be the head of the pack, and doesn't take kindly to having that position challenged. When it comes to fighting, you'll never find him seem more alive, as bloodshed just brings a smile to his face that begets a disturbing serenity in the chaos that is him. He also a quick wit and some what sarcastic, quick to make a joke at another expense the moment he sees the opportunity.
However, despite these qualities, Set isn't that bad of a guy. While he shouldn't be trusted in most situations, he knows his duty and will always seek to fulfil it. He can be very protective over those he cares for or feels duty bound to help, and any who seek to harm those under his protection will have the sands turned red with thèir blood for their transgressions.
Weapons:A Khopesh and his Signature beast, the Set Animal
Relationships/friendships: Anubis=It's complicated
Other:As a god of the Desert, he brings it everywhere he goes, able to turn any inorganic material into Sand with but a touch and enough focus. This and all sand is at his beck and call, able to bend to his will if enough focus is put into it. At the start, he can't control much more than a mound half his size and it takes some concentration to move it, though not as much as it takes to create sand. Once created, however, it will always follow him, melding with his skin until it's time to be called forth once again.
Aside from that, he's also a natural skilled fighter, able to use any weapon placed on his hands with much skill, though he holds a preference for melee combat. Along with this is his animal companion, The Set Animal, who takes the form of a large fog when it's not in battle. When ever it's master is in trouble, however, he can transform into a somewhat larger beast with a head similar to a jackal with long ears and a mouth full of teeth. The Set animal is a dangerous beast, having increases stength, speed, and durability when compared to other animals, and having all the ferocity of a Sandstorm as well, making it a for e to be reckoned with.
((Appearances and History to come later))
CS:
God Name:Quetzalcoatl
Mortal Name: Damian
Origin/God of: Aztec God of the West Wind, the Morning Star/The Dawn, Justice , Priesthood, Learning, and the Arts
Apperance:Damian is a tall, if skinny man at around 6'2, with a somewhat muscular frame. His skin is a dark tan color and his face is rather handsome in it's own way. His eyes are a deep jade green, the pupils being only slightly elongated in comparison to the normal human eye, his hair was coarse as it swept it's way across it's head in a vibrant array of colors, mostly a mix of reds, blues, and dark greens, though a few others were in there as well. His teeth are mostly normal except for his canines, which are thinner than normal and rather sharp at the point, like pseudo-fangs.
Also, across his torso and upper arms are a number of scale-like tattoos.
God history: can be a link, or you can use your knowledge! haha
Personality:Damian/Quetzalcoatl is a very intellectual individual, always eager to learn as much as he can, and teach others what he's discovered. He's a very cheerful, upbeat guy who keeps a shroud of optimism even in these dark times. He always is on the look out for something beautiful to capture it's image in a painting or drawing of somekind.
Damian/Queztalcoatl abhors needless violence, finding such acts appalling and those who commit them to be disdainful and savage. That being said, if it's in the defense of someone else, he'll fight to the bitter end until righteousness prevails, or he dies trying to preserve it.
Weapon(s) :He has no weapons truly, but he does posses a Aztec Wind Jewel(a conch shell that's been cut in half to show a spiral design) which helps him focus his powers and he can listen to see if he can learn any bits of knowledge caught by the west wind.
Relationships/friendships: Can be progressed through the RP, mostly made for which characters you have a connection with
Other:
He's able to manipulate the wind and air to his whims, currently all he can do is push people around with sudden gusts, but if he focuses on his gem he can channel those gusts in to blades and drills, though it's more tiring. He can also take strength from the stars, either to make him momentarily shine brightly like a human-sized flash bang, or use it to form weaponry out of starlight, though this is his most draining ability and can only be done for a short time before he falls unconscious, at the moment, anyway.
He can also communicate with birds and reptiles to an extent, though translating the knowledge he gains to others is difficult due to the differences in how the creatures process information. Any of his offense powers are more effective against forces of evil than other things, as their essence is being exercised by the power of his inner light. |
9,405 | 267 | 10 | 2,557 | 720 | Yash woke up in a garden. Quite a large garden with a pond in in. Next to it was a farmhouse burning down. It was quite a windy day in this part of phoenix. Blinking his eyes and rubbing them he got up and looked around. Suddenly a puzzled look entered his face. He didn't know what anything had happened, his mind was completely blank. Shrugging he decided that they were questions for another day. Walking around the garden carefully making sure he didn't step on the plants his leg got caught on a thistle, a weed. Enraged he grabbed the thistle ignoring the pain pulled it clean out the ground and lobbed it out of site. Suddenly just as fast as the anger had come it left, leaving him completely calm. Finding a tattered backpack on the ground he picked it up. A bottle rolled out the top as it left the ground. Catching it quickly it turned out to be full of milk, pulling off the top and taking a gulp it revitalized him and made him feel strong. Thinking 'cor whats in that thing' he put the stopper back on he chucked it back in the backpack and closed it. Swinging it onto his back he strolled out of the garden ready for whatever comes his way. | God Name: Cíocal Gricenchos
Mortal Name: Aodhán
Origin/God of: Irish /First God-king of fomors.
God history: For convenience's sake.
Personality: Cichol can be invasive, rude, and somewhat arrogant. His self-esteem is already quite high, and believes himself to be both wiser and to have more potential then any of the others. He loves to talk and cut the shit, even if he has nothing of any importance to really say. He is not quick to form bonds with others, and easily can feel betrayed. However, he is not above helping those who'm he views as equal. He will, though, make sure to mock them in anyway possible while lending any of his pals a hand.
Weapon(s) : An ever-changing tattered journal that he can summon, has the names of all fomors under his command that he can summon and command, most names are currently unreadable.
Relationships/friendships: As of the start, N/A
Other: As of the start, N/A |
9,406 | 267 | 11 | 511 | 3,294 | Who was she? What was she? Where was she? The answers to these questions were at the very forefront of her clouded mind, sharp and distinct against the chaotic darkness that had engulfed her very being, but there was still an undercurrent of mystery, of uncertainty, that tainted these answers. She was Feng Jiandi yet also Nüwa. Why was this so? She was supposedly human yet felt as if a part of her was different. Why was this so? She was in the ruined metropolis of New York yet she remembered only the quiet grandeur of Luoyang. Why was this so?
Why was this so?
Why was she sitting in the remains of a restaurant's second-storey, drinking green tea from cracked china as she beheld what had once been the jewel of western civilisation, now a ruined city wasting away in a dying world? What calamity had laid waste to humanity? What suffering had brought low their spirits? And what trauma ... what danger ... what had taken away her memories? Her identity? Why was her mind so clouded, lacking in clarity? Who had she been? Why was she here? What had changed her?
Why was this so?
She placed the cracked china back onto the rotting table, the quiet thud the only sound to disturb the eerie quiet of her new world. Her eyes watched the steam rise from the cup. It was soothing, calming. She could allay her doubts, allow her mind to rest. She could continue on in such a manner forever if she wished.
Yet her heart refused.
It bayed at her blood. It called for her to act, to leave this ruined restaurant for the greater city. Responsibility and duty. It called to her. It was her role to fix it all, her heart said. She could not simply avoid it all. Her misgivings, her fears ... they were to be discarded.
How strange, she thought. How strange it was that she felt the chains of duty to a world she knew nothing of. It was grand ... prideful.
But ...
Feng Jidian sipped the last of her tea and rose to her feet.
It was a role she would gladly embrace. | God Name: 女媧 Nüwa/Nügua/Nükua
Mortal Name: 風簡易 Feng Jiandi
Origin: Ancient Chinese Creator Goddess
Appearance: A tall and graceful figure even in her mortal form, the goddess known as Nüwa has incarnated into the realm of humans as an imposing woman of clear Han ethnicity, athletic in her build and standing at a height of around one point nine metres. She possesses regal features, with defined cheekbones and a beautiful face framed by her jet-black hair, which has been tied back into a bun. This sense of dignity is echoed in the manner in which she carries herself as well, from her confident posture to her professional garb. And indeed, her divine state simply magnifies her aura of kingship, with flowing, silvery-grey locks almost like the skin of a snake, and glowing emerald eyes that are clearly inhuman and dangerous, yet awe-inspiring. The ethereal nature of her godliness however, leaves much of her presence to be quite difficult to comprehend, but it is clear from her magnificent fan, royal robes and phoenix crown wreathed in the leathery body of snakes that she is a ruler of humanity.
History:
淮南子 Huainanzi - Going back to more ancient times, the four pillars were broken; the nine provinces were in tatters. Heaven did not completely cover ; Earth did not hold up all the way around . Fires blazed out of control and could not be extinguished; water flooded in great expanses and would not recede. Ferocious animals ate blameless people; predatory birds snatched the elderly and the weak. Thereupon, Nüwa smelted together five-colored stones in order to patch up the azure sky, cut off the legs of the great turtle to set them up as the four pillars, killed the black dragon to provide relief for Ji Province, and piled up reeds and cinders to stop the surging waters. The azure sky was patched; the four pillars were set up; the surging waters were drained; the province of Ji was tranquil; crafty vermin died off; blameless people lives.
風俗通義 - Fengsu Tongyi - People say that when Heaven and earth opened and unfolded, humankind did not yet exist, Nü Kua kneaded yellow earth and fashioned human beings. Though she worked feverishly, she did not have enough strength to finish her task, so she drew her cord in a furrow through the mud and lifted it out to make human beings. That is why rich aristocrats are the human beings made from yellow earth, while ordinary poor commoners are the human beings made from the cord's furrow.
封神演義 - Fengshen Yanyi - While King Zhou of Shang, the final ruler of his dynasty, was paying his respects to Nüwa at her temple, he became utterly smitten with her beauty, and wrote a poem on the wall that sought her hand. Upon viewing it, the goddess was sent spiralling into a rage, and she vowed to murder the shit out of him for daring to speak dirty to her through shitty poetry, as well as cursing the Shang dynasty to fall. She personally ascended the steps to Zhou's palace to rip his intestines out, but then the Yellow Emperor up in Heaven was all: "woah calm down" and shot two gigantic red lasers at her. Then she realised that unfortunately, Zhou still had twenty-six years left in his fuel tank, and so called three of her subordinates down to fuck with Zhou.
"The luck Cheng Tang won six hundred years ago is dimming. I speak to you of a new mandate of heaven which sets the destiny for all. You three are to enter King Zhou's palace, where you are to bewitch him. Whatever you do, do not harm anyone else. If you do my bidding, and do it well, you will be permitted to reincarnate as human beings."
And so doomed the Shang.
Personality: A suave and composed woman at first glance, the dignified figure that Nüwa cuts is incredibly confident in her own self and ability, possessing a sense of pride in her very being that could be easily interpreted as arrogance. Yet it is a pride that is entirely deserved, for she performs all duties that are required of her with finesse and skill, working with great vigour to ensure that perfection is kept. As such, she rarely suffers fools, and can be quite condescending to those who doubt her strength and wisdom. This cool-headed efficiency however, sometimes disappears if her pride has been slighted, and her responses can be quite disproportionate to those who have offended her sensibilities. Anger comes easily, fuelled by bottled-up frustrations at her need to constantly fix everything, and her actions in this regard, whether it be dry, venomous wit or a propensity for violence, do well to portray this rage of hers.
Weapon(s):
Coloured Stones of the Five Phases - the essence stones that she utilised to repair Heaven and Earth provide her the ability to manipulate the five phases of fire, water, earth, wood and metal to her own bidding.
Giant Fan
Snakes
Jian
Relationships:
Other: She speaks with a distinctive Luoyang-based Henan dialect. |
9,407 | 267 | 12 | 388 | 334 | Sophia
"If you can't lay them, slay them."
Current Attire
Necklace
Here
Location
Seattle - Fifth Floor of an Apartment Building
OCC:
Entrance of her cats will be later. Also I hope it's ok that I just picked up your character without noticing the bad men he fought and took him back to my room...for sexy time. giggity....jk :) Also, you have yet to edit your CS to give him an appearance so I have nothing to reference too
Eyes fluttered open as a yawn escaped her lips. A haze clouded her mind as she attempted to focus but everything was blurry as if she had been drugged. Breathing deeply, she sat up slowly from where she lay, rubbing her eyes, trying to concentrate with the dim early morning light. Firstly, she noticed she was completely naked and laying in a bed of delicate red Egyptian cotton sheets. Oh they were soft against her ivory skin. The daze lessened slightly as she admired her own body. Staring down at her supple curves, they enticed an erotic feeling deep within her belly, which increased more as she observed the muscular backside of a man, fast asleep in the bed next to her. Well this is unexpected. She ignored the urge to touch his smooth behind and wake him for attention, so she quietly slipped from the sheets and tip toed across the floor.
The haze was still strongly prominent as she attempted to contemplate on what exactly was going on. Or who she was. Even where she was for that matter. Everything was a complete blur. What the fuck did she take the night before to cause such a dismal obliteration of her entire life? Shaking her head, she walked to a mirror. Long strawberry blonde hair layered over her delicate shoulders and stopped just above her bodacious breasts. She cupped them lovingly before staring back at her reflection with bright, curious blue-green eyes. Who was this gorgeous creature? She left the mirror and slipped on a long billowy maxi dress which accentuated her frame before approaching a chest of drawers where the glint of jewelry caught her eye. The dim light cast the fiery necklace in a soft, alluring glow. The craftsmanship of the rubies and gold inter-lockets was breathtakingly beautiful, astounding so much that Sophia put it on. Sophia. That was her name. Yes. Sophia excitedly danced to the tall mirror, greatly enjoying her reflection. She smiled, ear to ear as the dreamy haze lessened just a bit more with the appearance of the elegantly crafted ruby necklace. "Freya..." Softly, the name escaped her. Surprisingly, this name seemed more fitting than Sophia, yet the later was more relevant.
A white light, almost like lightning flashed outside the window, and she ran to find it's source. The light dwindled into nothing but a man, five stories below her and a block away just beyond what looked like a city square. Caring about nothing else, she exited the apartment and bounded down the flights of stairs and out into the street. Ice blue gaze regarded the fallen ruins of the majority of the buildings and city monuments. Another mystery she would have to figure out, but first her priority was the man. She reached him with impressive speed, she knelt beside him, checking for signs of life. He was breathing and his heart was pounding strong in his robust chest, therefore making him unconscious. She had to help it. There was no question about it.
A chill sent goosebumps traveling up along her arms and legs, and Sophia realized that it was dismally cold outside. She desired her warm apartment, and knew the man needed a warm environment to recover. She was feeling gracious this morning. She began to drag the man in the green sweater along with his bag back to the safety of her home. Or where she happened to wake up this morning. Everything was still fuzzy. She vowed to never take the same combination of drugs and alcohol again. Of course this would require the knowledge of what exactly she took the night before. Just another mystery. So many mysteries to figure out.
To her surprise, and waste of every ounce of energy she claimed, she was able to drag the man up the stairs and into her apartment. Leaving him near the door, she paused to catch her breath. A bottle of Cristal lay half empty on a table in the living room and she drank the rest out of extreme thirst, almost gagging on the staleness of the champagne. Oh well. It worked to quench her thirst. She moved to the fireplace and stoked the almost dead fire until it came to ferocious light. Moving the man in front of the fire, she dropped his bag next to him and placed a fluffy pillow under his head. He was handsome, and she was curious as to how he managed to stay unconscious throughout her pushing and shoving and pulling him roughly up the stairs. Perhaps, he had just as much as a rough night as she did.
Smiling, she leaned forward and softly kissed his forehead, wishing him a full recovery. She had no idea what had overcome her and why she believed she needed to help this stranger, but it was a desire she had to fulfill. She wanted to see him well and in full lively form. Maybe, he had answers for some of her mysteries. After making him as comfortable as she could, she returned to her bedroom hoping to find the man she woke up next to and demand some answers....but he was gone and her haze was still very prominent. "Well, isn't that just fucking lovely." She flopped on the bed with the red Egyptian cotton sheets and immediately fell asleep from exhaustion.
*Edit | God Name: Freya
or Freija, Frejya, Freyia, Fröja, Frøya, Frøjya, Freia, Freja, Frua and Freiya.
Mortal Name: Sophia
Origin/God of: Norse - Lady/Goddess associated with love, sexuality, beauty, fertility, gold, seiðr, war, and death
Apperance: A strawberry blonde with stunning blue eyes and a bodacious curvy bodice.
God history: Click Here or Here and Here
Personality: Freya is famous for her fondness of love, fertility, beauty, and fine material possessions – and, because of these predilections, she’s considered to be a “party girl”. She’s certainly a passionate seeker after pleasures and thrills of all kinds. Therefore, she is extremely outgoing and charismatic and knows how to throw a party. She is also a very sweet and generous woman in all aspects, whether it be sharing her spectacular body with sensual love, or her Seidr abilities. More on that in the Other category.
Her sensual side consists of her abundant appreciation for high-class materials, all kinds of music(especially the romantic kind), and floral arrangements. She wears modern day formal gowns that exhibit her amazing body only because walking around naked is not socially acceptable.
She loves cats, and owns two of them. Eventually with the development of her powers, these particular cats will be able to shape shift into modern day warrior cats, with a blue hue to pull her fabled chariot over a battlefield full of slain warriors. Concerning her warrior Valkyrie side, she is the goddess of war and death as well making her extremely strong-willed and opinionated.
Her social status is highly ambiguous – she is and will be by turns exalted, feared, longed for, propitiated, celebrated, and scorned throughout her adventures of this roleplay.
Weapon(s): Brisling/Brísingamen - a magical necklace reputedly made of amber and rubies which makes her irresistible to men
Relationships/friendships: None as of now but if any Norse gods/goddesses join up, we are automatically going to hit it off.
Other: Freya possesses falcon plumes that allow their bearer to shift her shape into that of a falcon. Warning this picture contains nudity. That being said, if Freya could walk around naked all the time and be socially accepted, she would.
Freya is the archetype of the völva, a professional practitioner of seidr, the most organized form of Norse magic. It was she who first brought this art to the gods, and, by extension, to humans as well. Given her expertise in controlling and manipulating the desires, health, and prosperity of others, she’s a being whose knowledge and power are almost without equal. |
9,408 | 267 | 13 | 1,154 | 1,925 | Atlas
"Oh god... Oh god...! Please! Someone help me!"
Eli shot straight up, gasping for air. His first reaction: his whole body hurt. A lot. every muscle in his arms, back, and legs were on fire, as if he just did the most intense workout of all time about 1 billion times, and his neck felt stiff. Although he hurt badly, there was a sense of relief and happiness... As if he was waiting a very long time for this. The second reaction: Who the hell was he? Eli Greene. The Bearer of the Heavens. A voice chimed in his head. His name was Eli Greene, and although the second part sounded familiar, he had no idea what it meant. He heard a female scream again. The voice that woke him up. His golden eyes scanned the area. He was in a courtyard. The grass was dead, the trees as well, weeds and other ugly plans grew through the concrete, and Eli was in the center of it. He looked to be in what was a pavilion, but the roof was long gone, only the wooden posts remained.
"someone! Please!" The voice said once more, sobbing. Where was the voice coming from? One block away, ground level, about 70 feet from his position. That was the first thing that chimed in his head again, and although it came out of nowhere, and he didn't know anything, he knew that it was right. He started forward until his foot hit something solid. Looking down he saw that it was a backpack, and upon further investigation, it was full of a lot of goods and valuables in this hellhole of a city. There was also a dull golden sword under the pack. It looked grimy, but the blade was sharp even though it looked as dull as a butter knife. The handle had worn leather around it, and the sword itself had a small layer of dust on it, as if it hadn't been used in a while... Why was this here, where was he? He was in Chicago, and he also knew that the world was in fact a hellhole. Funny how he knew that but absolutely nothing about himself...
He grabbed the backpack, putting it over his shoulder, strapped the blade to the belt of his jeans, and headed towards the voice. It was still sobbing, so it was easy to follow. he stumbled upon an old mechanic shop. The store was run down, and the giant garage gate was partially open, a woman was underneath it. She was the source of the call. Eli walked over, obviously hesitant to just rush. She was the first person he's seen in the deserted city, he had to keep his eyes open.
"Oh thank god! You have to help me!" The woman sobbed once she saw Eli. Her face was bruised and cut, and her blonde hair was cut short. Her face showed a lot of pain, and although tears streamed down from her eyes she looked relieved that someone found her. Eli looked at the heavy garage door, then down at the woman. "How did this happen?" He asked her, trying to examine the situation. "I-I was trying to get some supplies to help fix my door. Raiders tried to get in last night. As I was leaving the garage door fell on me.. Please, I need help. My-My daughter is all alone right now." The woman fought back a sob. Eli was determined now.
He knelt down and grabbed the bottom of the garage door. "I'm going to try and lift this up." He said to the woman, who looked at him skeptically. "This thing is heavy, maybe you should take off your pack to help." she suggested. Eli thought for a second, but decided it would be a good idea. Less weight to carry. He dropped the backpack, put his hands on the bottom of the cold metal garage door. He took a deep inhale, and started to lift. Eli was feeling a great sense of deja vu as he lifted the heavy door with some sort of ease. He kept his hands on the door, lifting it up so he could rest it behind his back. His knees wobbled a bit at the weight, but he held his ground. "Alright... move...!" Eli struggled to say. He didn't hear the woman move. She only gave an even more depressed sob, and spoke a very weak and broken. "I'm so sorry..."
Eli understood what just happened. He had been tricked. A group of four men came storming into the garage, weapons drawn at Eli, and laughing. "They would have killed my baby..." The woman tried to explain to Eli who was now having a much more difficult time holding up the door. "They threatened to--"
"Come here, Bitch!" One of them yelled. He was a muscular man and wore a black wifebeater and some cargo pants. He held a machete, and looked like he survived a lot of fights before. Eli immediately hated the guy. The woman obeyed and stood at his side. He put a hand up to her face and she flinched, closing her eyes shut and muttering something. Things were making sense to Eli, and he wasn't sure how he liked it. He glared as the man walked towards the golden eyed man, a smug look on his face. "It's always the heroes that die first, my friend. But you saved her, you die with nobility, and we get your loot. Nice sword." The man said with a scoff. Eli didn't have the strength the talk as he held open the door. If he let go the door would immediately fall on top of him, killing him.
The way he was tricked, the way he held the heavy object above his head, it all seemed all too familiar, and he really hated the feeling of both. "Let...The wo...Woman go." Eli managed to mutter, it made the guy laugh. "Not a chance. She's great at lying to people, plus she's with us for the safety of her baby. A true treasure." She looked at Eli with a dark stare, but it wasn't for him. She managed to get to a movable tool box. He soon understood what was happening.
"I'm not your treasure." She said with a strong voice, although she was trembling. The leader laughed at her now, walking over and smacking her across the face. "You'll be whatever we want you to be if you want to keep your child safe." He said with a chilling calmness. She looked back at him with anger in her face, spat blood in his, and then took the movable toolbox, slamming it in his side, and then pushing it towards the garage door.
Eli let go of the heavy metal, falling to the floor on his stomach, his hands going above his head... The toolbox held its ground! Eli looked up to see a frenzy. The woman was running, the gang following after her. Eli was infuriated. He had been tricked by a man who thinks he's superior than everyone. Eli stood up, and charged at the leader. He tackled him to the ground before he could turn around, cussing at Eli. The golden eyed man still had incredible strength, and his hatred for him fueled it.
The leader of the gang managed to find a wrench and hit Eli upside the head, knocking him off him. He was dazed, and when he finally got his vision again, he saw the man running where the woman ran seconds ago. Eli stood and heard a scream coming for him. One of the gang's members swung a blade at him, but Eli ducked and gave an uppercut to his jaw. Eli seemed to have incredible strength as the enemy was knocked backwards a few feet. Eli's anger got the best of him. He grabbed a heavy pipe, from a table, lifting it with ease, and swung it at the man's head, hearing a sickening crunch. One down, three to go.
Eli ran after the other group, hearing shouts of frustration as they were searching for the woman. Eli found two of the four, as he burst open a door to a small office, and immediately dove back out when they drew their weapons. "don't shoot the fucker! It'll draw the creatures out!" One of them yelled. He didn't know what they meant by creatures, but he did know that they won't shoot him. He took a sharp inhale of breath before showing himself in the door frame again, an throwing the pipe with all his might. Another sickening crunch was heard as it made impact with a man's chest. Eli rushed in, tackling the man, but at the same time getting stabbed in the shoulder. He grunted in pain, but it didn't stop Eli from swinging his fist at the man's face over and over, ignoring the blinding pain. He had a feeling that he had experienced much worse. Once the man stopped moving, Eli stepped off him, his hand numb and bloody.
He heard a gunshot. Eli ran toward the sound, and saw a horrific scene. The woman he tried to rescue was slouched against the wall, a red dot in her chest, looking at the leader with fear and realization. His rage built up, the sword on his belt feeling heavier. He looked down and pulled it out, walking quietly over to the man who had tricked him, beat a woman for his own gain, and now killed her. The swung the flat side of the sword at the man's head, sending him flying to the side. He made his way over to the woman, crouching next to her to see the damage. She had been shot in the lung, and he assumed the hospitals were not open anywhere. She looked up at him with awe, and smile on her lips as her hand tried to reach up to him. She tried to say something, and although there was a lot of gurgling, he heard the words "I'm sorry" escape her mouth. He didn't know if she was being sorry for tricking him, or saying sorry to her child somewhere out there. His rage turned to dread, and sadness, trying to fight back tears.
Tell me, Atlas... Bearer of the Heavens...
The same female voice was in his head again. His mind started racing, he heard the name and title before... He was Eli Greene, but he was also... Atlas? The woman had passed. Eli looked at her with sadness for a little bit before gently closing her eyes. He heard the whimpering of the last gang member on the floor. The leader. The one who tricked Atlas in holding up the heavy door. The rage soon returned. He walked over to him slowly, examining his sword, then him. He placed the golden sword up to his neck, he was flinching and breathing heavily, glaring at Eli as if thinking how could he have possibly lost to this guy.
"She deserved it. Heroes don't live long out here..." The leader explained, a sick smile on his face.
Which is heavier? The World, or its people's hearts?
Eli had no sympathy for this man, but he still hesitated at the thought. No. He tricked you, and killed an innocent. He raised his sword, and then swung down at the man's neck.
You're the only one strong enough to bear this weight. Redemption is full of loss sorrow. Find the others. Do not be on the wrong side again.
Eli flicked the blood off his sword, staring at the aftermath. He collapsed to his knees and broke down. Minutes after waking up with no memory and this was his first experience. He got his composure, standing, and grimly left the mechanic shop, grabbing his backpack along the way. | God Name: Atlas
Mortal Name: Eli Greene
Origin/God of: Greek. Titan Lord of Astronomy and Navigation. Bearer of the Heavens
Apperance: Eli is 6'2", with a very large muscular build. He has short light brown hair, with a darker trimmed beard, and a scar right above his right eye, separating his brow. His skin is a deep tan, and there are numerous scars all over his body, especially on his arms and top of his back. He wears a warm and worn travel jacket, with a dark shirt underneath. His jeans are faded, and he wears a pair of old boots. The most noticeable feature about him though are his eyes. They look like they are made of gold, being so light brown. They also show an immense amount of suffering and pain. As if he experienced something no one has ever felt before.
God history: Atlas is the son of Iapetus (the God of Mortality) and Clymene (Goddess of infamy, fame, and the renown). He is also the brother of Prometheus. He was a leader in the Titan War against the Greek Gods, and ultimately lost. His punishment was to stand on the west side of the Earth, and hold up the sky and heavens.
Personality: Atlas is on a road of redemption. He has a heavy heart, and tries his best to differ right from wrong. He is incredibly strong willed, and hard to sway when he has made up his mind. He has a sense of responsibility to help as many as he can, even in this horrible new world they are all now in.
Weapon(s): He has an old sword that he used in the Titan war long ago, but it isn't special.
Relationships/friendships: None yet
Other: "Tell me, Atlas, which is heavier? The world, or its people's hearts?" |
9,409 | 267 | 14 | 1,640 | 2,702 | So...now parents or relatives, and the only thing you remember is waking up in here? an aged man of Chinese descent asked the boy sitting silently at the corner of the table, while he placed a bowl of warm, freshly cooked noodles before him.
Zhang Lau and his wife, Pin Yin, ran a humble flowershop in Chinatown New York for most of their married lives without causing any bit trouble. Yet out of nowhere, the whole world fell around them, with simple people they knew for hears turning into little less than maddened animal, killing and hurting everything and everyone around them. The pair could little more than lock themselves and survive with the few rations they had left in the shop. Days went by as they watched their once quiet neighborhood being malformed into something akin to a warzone. But the greatest surprise for the pair would arrive when they found a lone child within their otherwise cellar, sleeping peacefully upon a bed of fresh Lotus Flowers.
"I only know that my name is Ning, but I don't remember my family...I think I have a father...and two older brothers..." its had been like this ever since he woke up, as if his mind was covered by a thick cloud. The only bundled memories he could actually perceive were pictures of himself playing in the sea,but nothing that a child wouldn't do as a toddler. Still Zhangs look remained suspicious, until his wife broke off the mood.
"Oh just lay off with the interrogation for now Zhang, it is obvious that the boy wishes us now harm. In fact, we should be thanking Ning for sharing his food with us..." It was true, that besides the clothes on his back-a red athletic jacket with jeans and black shoes- the only other thing that the mystery boy carried with him was a bag with enough rations to survive for weeks, as well as a pair of expensive looking rollerblades. And even Ning himself didn't know how they ended up with him.
For a few seconds, he nibbled on his instant ramen as both him and Zheng waited for Pinyin to come to the table, his eyes wandering around the place, looking at the pictures upon the shelves until his eyes paused upon a very unique object. Forgetting his meal instantly, Ning stood up and reached for the small ivory statue of a child with multiple arms, each one holding a different object.
"What is this?" a near dumbfounded Ning asked. He felt as if this was a precious object, a beacon of sorts, and the two eyes shaped eyes of liliac eyes shed small rays of revealing light into the darkness of his memories.
"Just a souvenir...you see when I was young I used to work as a taxi driver, and the boss had a statue like this in every cab. Its supposed to be the guardian of drivers..."
"Nezha!" the boy completed, the name escaping his lips effortlessly as he took one last look over the statue. Was this some sort of revelation for him? "I have to go..." Ning said to the elderly couple, and now it was their turn to look on in question "I am needed somewhere else." | God Name: Artemis
Mortal Name: Robyn
Origin/God of: Greek Goddess of the Hunt, Forests and Hills, the Moon, Maidens and Archery
Appearance:
Clothing:
Artemis was born of Zeus and the Leto. When Hera discovered Zeus’ infidelity, she declared that Leto would not be able to give birth on any land. Instead, Leto found an island and there, Artemis and Apollo were born. Artemis was born first and assisted her mother with the birth of her twin brother.
As a girl, Artemis was adored by Zeus and while she was sitting in his lap one day, she asked that she be granted six wishes. Of those six wishes, she asked that she may remain a virgin forever, that she may have her own followers and huntresses to accompany her, to be the lightbringer and that she would never be worshipped or declared the matron in any city. Zeus granted her all these wishes and Artemis set about preparing for her hunt. For her bow and arrow, she went to the island of Lipara where Hephaestus and the Cyclops worked. Although her companions were terrified, Artemis bravely asked for a bow and arrows. After this, she went to Pan and asked for hunting dogs.
Throughout her life, Artemis was subject to vain thoughts and was an infamously proud being. Anyone who offended her beauty or her archery skills usually met with a harsh endings. Even archer endings were reserved for those who tried to force themselves on Artemis or looked on her with desire. Actaeon, a hunting companion of Artemis, once caught her bathing naked. For this, Artemis turned him into a stag which was devoured by Actaeon’s own hunting dogs.
More info:
Personality:
Artemis is best described as young and proud. If anyone offends either her or her family, Artemis will more than likely find a creative way to kill them. However, if her own powers don’t work out, she’s really not afraid to go crying to Zeus who will be more than happy to enact vengeance (unless it’s his wife, of course). In some ways, Artemis can be very affectionate but only towards certain individuals – she’ll often take pity on young females and pregnant mothers but to others, she’s a cold being. Artemis’ own arrogance seems to form the majority of her character but she can be fond of people who have a great ability in hunting yet remain humble.
Artemis, however, is one of the bravest Goddesses out of all the pantheon, showing very little fear in the face of massive adversary. For that reason, she can be a dreaded enemy to face, considering both her anger and her inability to miss. Artemis is a young goddess with frivolous fancies but if you piss her off enough, your story won’t end well.
Weapon(s):
- The Moon Bow that Hephaestus forged for her (although, it has reduced its form to something much akin to a modern hunting bow)
- A simple silver knife that doesn’t appear massively dangerous but if you let her get close to you with it, she’ll probably gut you.
Relationships/friendships:
N/A
Other:
You know nothing, Jon Snow. |
9,410 | 267 | 15 | 2,125 | 414 | Soft, rolling fields, green and sparkling in the warm spring...wet air rushing across her skin, through her hair.
"Epona."
She stirred, the rough mixture of gravel and broken glass pebbles scratching her sensitive skin. Something soft snuffled against her cheek. "Eghh...not yyyeeet. The sun is so warm." The ginger batted at the inquisitive creature. There was a shuffling sound and something heavy was dumped abruptly on her stomach with a small whump. She sat up reflexively, as the sudden weight had knocked the wind from her lungs. As she did so, what had landed on her rolled into her lap and she examined it inquisitively, rubbing her now sore ribs. "A backpack? Where did that come from? Whatever's in there must be really dense to make it weigh that much."
Her train of thought was interrupted by the sensation of her hair being pulled on. Turning slowly as though afraid of what horrible person/creature could be behind her, she almost laughed as she came face to face with a long muzzle. "Hey there." she crooned, stroking the animal's nose. "You sure are a friendly -" she ducked around its long neck for a moment. "girl." From what she could tell of the mare, it was a good-sized grey and white paint...draft horse, maybe? The equine certainly looked fit for difficult pulling, if just a little thin.
Standing and gently disentangling her long, curly hair from the mare's mouth, the young woman brushed herself off. She blushed. Her current attire consisted only of a short, rather plain dark green dress with a hood attached, sepia leggings, and dark brown hiking boots. "It seems whatever brought me here forgot to give me pants." To be fair, it could be argued that she didn't need them seeing as how she was wearing leggings, but did the dress really have to be so short - and split up to her hips on the sides too? Well, she'd just have to make do. Unless...she dug around in the backpack, muttering absentmindedly to the mare as she pushed past the rather generous amount of food provided. "Nope, nope, more food, sword, oh, what a surprise, more food." she narrowed her eyes. "Hold on, sword?"
Suddenly, she was aware of just how tense the atmosphere was. Looking around for the first time, her jaw dropped. "Where am I?" she whispered dazedly. She was in the middle of what had once been something thriving and functional-the name came to her in an instant:"New York City"- but it was just so wrong, so dead. "I have to change this, but I can't do it alone." Her pale green eyes hardened in resolve. She closed the backpack and swung it over her shoulders.
"Come here, G-host." she named the mare at the last moment. Just like a phantom, it had appeared to her from nowhere. She twisted her fingers into the equine's mane and pulled herself onto her back, using an old display case from a nearby collapsed jewelry store as a makeshift mounting block. "One last thing before I go. I need a name." Just then, a golden flash from inside the display case caught her eye. Leaning over and reaching through the jagged remains of glass panels carefully, she produced a small golden ring with a gift tag of sorts tied on. As intentionally generic as it was, she couldn't help but smile at the sentiment written on the tag: Congratulations, Thorne! May success find you in your new career!
"New career, huh?" she grinned. "I guess you could call surviving the apocalypse a 'career'" she turned Ghost and sped her into a gallop, appreciating her new name, the commotion in the distance she was heading to, and, for the first time, her freedom of leg movement. | Epona/Thorne
God Name: Epona
Mortal Name: Thorne
Origin/God of: Celtic Goddess of Horses (other domestic animals to some extent), fertility, providence, sovereignty and authority, and journeys to the afterlife.
Appearance:
Mortal:
Goddess:
"Stories about Epona lost to the world forever, although one story regarding Her origin remains. During the decline of the Roman Empire, a Greek writer named Agesilaos wrote a story in which he claimed that Epona was the product of a man named Phoulonios Stellos, who had no interest whatsoever in women. Instead of mating with a woman he preferred to mate with a mare, and when that mare gave birth, it was to a beautiful human-looking daughter. Interestingly, it was actually the mare, herself, who named her daughter Epona, and by her doing so, she deified Epona as the Goddess of Horses.
Patricia Monaghan tells us that “Epona could take the tangible forms of both parents. Sometimes, too, She appeared as a rushing river, which suggests that Epona was a fertility Goddess, often seen in Celtic culture as a water spirit. Similarly, the connection among Celtic peoples of the horse and the sun suggests a solar nature to Epona, supported as well by the patera or round sunlike plate that She carries in many sculptures.
The sacred mare Epona appeared as the bestower of sovereignty in the ancient Celtic rituals of kingship, which may have included a rite of marriage with the mare Goddess. Among Indo-European peoples in India, a rite of mare-marriage, which solidified a man’s claim on the rulership of a geographical area, is attested and has been connected by scholars to the figure of Epona."
Personality: Practical and free, Epona's personality aligns with her favored animal. She can be a little sassy at times, but is primarily a patient and kind-hearted girl. She believes in second chances and prefers to give the benefit of the doubt. Never one to complain, she can be stoic to an almost detrimental degree. Above all, she values life and leadership based on valor. Unfortunately, sometimes she can let her morals and relationships get in the way of her acting rationally.
Weapon(s) : Currently, only an old-looking longsword with the word "Sovereignty" carved into one side of the blade and a long whip that's barbed appearance seems to be based on a briar.
Relationships/friendships: None but Ghost at the moment, but she makes friends easily. (Especially with other animal and/or celtic deities.)
Other: Soon after she awakens in the world, she discovers that domestic animals -horses in particular- can be summoned by and obey her. A grey and white vanner mare who she finds immediately becomes her permanent companion. Said horse: (Her name is Ghost) |
9,411 | 267 | 16 | 1,154 | 1,925 | Poseidon
Ben stood low to the ground, keeping an eye out for anything out of the ordinary. Why was he going towards the gunshot and bone chilling howl? He surely wan't expecting anything good to come from this, but he had a feeling he heard that shriek before, and he needed to find answers. Ben found the firefight. A group of men were circling around another man hiding behind cover. One was fallen, and they all wore the same outfit his looters wore. He knew that whatever the guy did, he didn't think he deserved getting shot at by a bunch of looters and murderers. He looked around at his options. He didn't have a gun... But he apparently had the ability to make sprinklers blow out and some harpoon training. he hid behind a run down car, and saw a fire hydrant near a group of looters. He felt the knot in his guy again, sensing the water inside the metal... Ben took a deep breath, held out his hand, and controlled with all his might. The fire hydrant shook violently, And after one last exhausted push....! A small leak squirted out of the side of it.
Well... Time for plan B. Ben spotted the farthest one away from everyone, took out his old harpoon, and threw it as hard as he could. It was surprisingly accurate and sliced through the air like butter, and it hit the man square in the back. A loud yell came from the man as Ben ran over towards his body, grabbing the harpoon before diving behind another car from the gun fire. Great. he had their attention. Although his fire hydrant stunt wasn't impressive he still felt the knot in his stomach... maybe he needed time for the power to recharge? he was still new to this whole "water and harpoon" thing, or at least he thought he was. But he did know that guns hurt, and could kill very quickly. Hopefully this stranger takes advantage of this time. | God Name: Atlas
Mortal Name: Eli Greene
Origin/God of: Greek. Titan Lord of Astronomy and Navigation. Bearer of the Heavens
Apperance: Eli is 6'2", with a very large muscular build. He has short light brown hair, with a darker trimmed beard, and a scar right above his right eye, separating his brow. His skin is a deep tan, and there are numerous scars all over his body, especially on his arms and top of his back. He wears a warm and worn travel jacket, with a dark shirt underneath. His jeans are faded, and he wears a pair of old boots. The most noticeable feature about him though are his eyes. They look like they are made of gold, being so light brown. They also show an immense amount of suffering and pain. As if he experienced something no one has ever felt before.
God history: Atlas is the son of Iapetus (the God of Mortality) and Clymene (Goddess of infamy, fame, and the renown). He is also the brother of Prometheus. He was a leader in the Titan War against the Greek Gods, and ultimately lost. His punishment was to stand on the west side of the Earth, and hold up the sky and heavens.
Personality: Atlas is on a road of redemption. He has a heavy heart, and tries his best to differ right from wrong. He is incredibly strong willed, and hard to sway when he has made up his mind. He has a sense of responsibility to help as many as he can, even in this horrible new world they are all now in.
Weapon(s): He has an old sword that he used in the Titan war long ago, but it isn't special.
Relationships/friendships: None yet
Other: "Tell me, Atlas, which is heavier? The world, or its people's hearts?" |
9,412 | 267 | 17 | 1,918 | 8,265 | Quetzalcoatl, The Lion's Den Freya's Apartment, Seattle
Sometime after Freya's drifting off into slumberland, Quetzal began to stir in the living room. It wasn't long before the man awoke, his eyes opening slowly as he felt the warmth of the fire on his face. He lay there for a while, taking in his surroundings with some confusion as he found himself in yet another unfamiliar place with no idea how he arrived. He was beginning to think the previous sequence of events were but a dream.
Then he tried to move.
A sharp cry of agony tore through the house, followed soon by a string of words in a language that he had no idea how he knew it, but felt so natural to roll of his tongue, even if the words had spoke made him feel ashamed of himself for some reason. He was able to slowly rise to his feet, though he couldn't stop the hiss of pain from escaping his lips as he held his sides, feeling his bruised ribs and letting out another, quieter string of curses.
I know I'm lucky to get away with just done bruising, but fuck if it doesn't hurt like hell. Once he felt like he'd regained enough strength, he began to walk around the apartment, curious to find a clue as to how he arrived here. Eventually, he'd come to the bedroom, which he felt bad for intruding but felt it was necessary to ascertain his current predicament. But still, he didn't want to be rude, so he painfully lifted his hand to ring out three solid knocks on the door.
"Hello, anybody in there? If so, please speak up. After knocking, he'd wait to hear a response for a small amount of time, Quetzal would walk right in, going he wasn't about to regret this decision. | CS:
God Name:Set
Mortal Name: Jayden
Origin/God of: Egyptian God of Deserts, Storms, Chaos, Foreigners, and War.
Apperance:
God history: can be a link, or you can use your knowledge! haha
Personality:Jayden/Set is a bit reckless and wild, overcome with a desire to live free and by his own rules. He always tries to be the head of the pack, and doesn't take kindly to having that position challenged. When it comes to fighting, you'll never find him seem more alive, as bloodshed just brings a smile to his face that begets a disturbing serenity in the chaos that is him. He also a quick wit and some what sarcastic, quick to make a joke at another expense the moment he sees the opportunity.
However, despite these qualities, Set isn't that bad of a guy. While he shouldn't be trusted in most situations, he knows his duty and will always seek to fulfil it. He can be very protective over those he cares for or feels duty bound to help, and any who seek to harm those under his protection will have the sands turned red with thèir blood for their transgressions.
Weapons:A Khopesh and his Signature beast, the Set Animal
Relationships/friendships: Anubis=It's complicated
Other:As a god of the Desert, he brings it everywhere he goes, able to turn any inorganic material into Sand with but a touch and enough focus. This and all sand is at his beck and call, able to bend to his will if enough focus is put into it. At the start, he can't control much more than a mound half his size and it takes some concentration to move it, though not as much as it takes to create sand. Once created, however, it will always follow him, melding with his skin until it's time to be called forth once again.
Aside from that, he's also a natural skilled fighter, able to use any weapon placed on his hands with much skill, though he holds a preference for melee combat. Along with this is his animal companion, The Set Animal, who takes the form of a large fog when it's not in battle. When ever it's master is in trouble, however, he can transform into a somewhat larger beast with a head similar to a jackal with long ears and a mouth full of teeth. The Set animal is a dangerous beast, having increases stength, speed, and durability when compared to other animals, and having all the ferocity of a Sandstorm as well, making it a for e to be reckoned with.
((Appearances and History to come later))
CS:
God Name:Quetzalcoatl
Mortal Name: Damian
Origin/God of: Aztec God of the West Wind, the Morning Star/The Dawn, Justice , Priesthood, Learning, and the Arts
Apperance:Damian is a tall, if skinny man at around 6'2, with a somewhat muscular frame. His skin is a dark tan color and his face is rather handsome in it's own way. His eyes are a deep jade green, the pupils being only slightly elongated in comparison to the normal human eye, his hair was coarse as it swept it's way across it's head in a vibrant array of colors, mostly a mix of reds, blues, and dark greens, though a few others were in there as well. His teeth are mostly normal except for his canines, which are thinner than normal and rather sharp at the point, like pseudo-fangs.
Also, across his torso and upper arms are a number of scale-like tattoos.
God history: can be a link, or you can use your knowledge! haha
Personality:Damian/Quetzalcoatl is a very intellectual individual, always eager to learn as much as he can, and teach others what he's discovered. He's a very cheerful, upbeat guy who keeps a shroud of optimism even in these dark times. He always is on the look out for something beautiful to capture it's image in a painting or drawing of somekind.
Damian/Queztalcoatl abhors needless violence, finding such acts appalling and those who commit them to be disdainful and savage. That being said, if it's in the defense of someone else, he'll fight to the bitter end until righteousness prevails, or he dies trying to preserve it.
Weapon(s) :He has no weapons truly, but he does posses a Aztec Wind Jewel(a conch shell that's been cut in half to show a spiral design) which helps him focus his powers and he can listen to see if he can learn any bits of knowledge caught by the west wind.
Relationships/friendships: Can be progressed through the RP, mostly made for which characters you have a connection with
Other:
He's able to manipulate the wind and air to his whims, currently all he can do is push people around with sudden gusts, but if he focuses on his gem he can channel those gusts in to blades and drills, though it's more tiring. He can also take strength from the stars, either to make him momentarily shine brightly like a human-sized flash bang, or use it to form weaponry out of starlight, though this is his most draining ability and can only be done for a short time before he falls unconscious, at the moment, anyway.
He can also communicate with birds and reptiles to an extent, though translating the knowledge he gains to others is difficult due to the differences in how the creatures process information. Any of his offense powers are more effective against forces of evil than other things, as their essence is being exercised by the power of his inner light. |
9,413 | 267 | 18 | 78 | 8,915 | The snapping of twigs that littered the ground below her feet and the heavy foot falls of multiple steps pushed her further, fighting any pain she might have felt since she didn't know what the people behind her were like or what they could want from her. She decided to take the risk, glancing back for a split moment to see how far behind her pursuers were or even how many there might be so she was prepared for whatever fight might lay ahead. This sadly presented a problem since she had stopped paying attention to that before her and as her legs continued to move, she ended up rushing into another person at full speed which caused them both to tumble to the orchard floor behind some overgrown brush. Lily was about to push off the stranger quickly, fearing that she had run into one of the very people she was trying to escape but the others hands were faster. A strong hand now covering her mouth, preventing any noise from her to be heard which cause her to panic and her hand flew to her hip as she thought of the sword there. It wasn't much but it was all she had for a defense and could be enough to ward another off but that plan flew out the window the second she felt the cold of steel at her throat. She leaned her head back a bit more, trying to avoid the blade as she clamped her eyes shut as she was now captured and at the mercy of the other beneath her. One hand by the sword and the other pinned in such a way the it would be difficult to move in any way without being cut. She listened carefully, the rustling getting closer and stopping only for a moment before continuing onward and still the stranger did nothing but hold her at blade point which meant this person had nothing to do with the people after her or they didn't want to notify the others for a different reason which at this point wasn't looking to good either.
Lily suddenly feel the point of the blade leave her neck, making her want to shoot up and way from the other but she wasn't left much of a chance as the person switched their positions causing her bright blue eyes to snap open once more from fright and being startled by the sudden action. She didn't know what she had expected the stranger to be like or look like but this had not been it. She took a moment to stare at the man above her, carefully taking in his look as he did her and feeling just as curious. He had her trapped, yet he did not harm her and it seemed that he had only done what he had earlier to keep her silent enough so they would both not be spotted but then why was he doing what he was doing now. There were too many questions and not enough answers...maybe this was something she had to get used too.
They seemed enchanted for a moment and while the spell lasted she noticed and saw much about her savoir and or capture, not sure of which to call him yet. The body laying on top of her own was thin but was not to be fooled for the lean muscle was clearly present. The man's face spoke of slyness even a hint of mischief but looks were deceiving in her opinion. She needed to look at his eyes, wanting to see what she would find there in the depths that would speak volumes of his soul. It was as if she had done this more than once, to many people...wanting to know what it was inside them for looks mattered not. What she found was that unique deep red that showed curiosity at the moment but the mischief was there still and even the the danger that was just beyond the surface. He would not be one to be trifled with and if his whole demeanor wasn't a clue than his eyes spoke in volumes. He was dangerous, intimidating and a warning to all but to her she felt no fear or any need to heed the warning.
You have walked along with Death and Darkness many a time before why should you fear it...
That was the thought that rang in her head before a chuckle pulled her from her mind, causing her to blink a bit as whatever had been before broke and he stood. She was free once more, her body adjusting to the lack of the others warmth as the man before her offered out his hand. She reached her hand out to his, hovering for a second over his own before gently placing her hand upon his and carefully using him to help her stand back onto her own to feet. A grin was painted on the strangers face as his head tilted in the direction the bandits had been before their little mishap and she frown a bit at the thought of the bandits.
"Definitely not. It seems fate likes to play a hand in everything and today the outcome has been well at least where this matter is concerned." she answered softly before continuing to speak,"It is a pleasure to meet you, Jayden."
"My name is..."
Persephone
She stopped mid sentence, her brow furrowing a bit at the name that popped into her head that moment. Why did that name feel so completely right? It was like it was a piece of her very being where as Lily had sounded lovely but not right in the slightest. What was the reasoning for this? Why did she have two names? Which was real and which wasn't? Were they both right? It was all too confusing...
"My name is Lily. Thank you for helping me even though I basically slammed you to the ground." | God Name: Persephone, Kore, Persephonia, Phersephone, Persephassa, Phersephatta, Persephone Soteira and Persephone Despoena, Proserpine, Proserpina.
Mortal Name: Lily
Origin/God of: Greek- Goddess of Springtime/ Queen of the UnderWorld/ Rebirth and Death
God history:
You bring the light clasped round you, and although
I knew you’d bring it, knew it as I waited,
Knew as you’d come that you’d come cloaked in light
I had forgotten what light meant, and so
This longed for moment, so anticipated,
I stand still, dazzled by my own delight.
I see you, and you see me, and we smile
And your smile says you are as pleased as me
With everything and nothing still to say
All that we’ve saved and thought through all this time
Boils down to affirmation now as we
Stand here enlightened in my realm of grey.
Cerberus wags his solitary tail,
And though the dust of Hell lies round our feet
Your flowers are already sprouting through.
“You came,” “I said I would,” “You didn’t fail,”
“And you’re still here,” “Of course. We said we’d meet.”
“Yes,” “Yes!” “You’re really here! “And so are you!”
We don’t say yet that you will have to go
And Hell return inevitably black
Your flowers fade when parted from your tread
Though this is something we both surely know,
As certain as you come, you must go back,
And I remain alone among the dead.
They say I snatched you from the world above
Bound you with pomegranates, cast a spell
Bribed you with architecture. It’s not so.
Friendship is complicated, life is, love,
Your work the growing world, my task is Hell
You come back always, always have to go.
But here and now, this moment, we can smile,
Speak and be heard, this moment we can share
And laugh, and help each other to be great,
And talk aloud together, all worthwhile,
Our work, our worlds, and all we really care,
Each word shines golden, each thought worth the wait.
And Hell’s poor souls whirl round us as they glide
Off up to Lethe to begin again,
On to new lives, new dawns beyond Hell’s night.
We walk among your flowers, side by side,
Such joys we share are worth a little pain.
You come back. And you always bring the light.
Personality: Persephone's personality is very dual like her roll in Olympia, on one hand she is compassionate, wise and even trusting to the point that it boarders on the innocently naive sometimes but she is also not one to be trifled with and has no problem putting people in their place should they call upon her rage. She can be just as jealous or stubborn as any other Olympian God or Goddess and much more clever than going about it straight on. She does what she believes is right and follows her heart and instincts on all matters. She can see into people better than they can see into themselves. It is hard for her too think of putting herself first as she is always ready to help another before helping herself.
Weapon(s)/Important Symbol : Golden Sword/Pomegranate
Relationships/friendships: To Be Determined
Other:
You Will Find Out In Due Time
SIDE NOTE: I may add in the Goddess Nyx but we will see so for now I am still reserving it. |
9,414 | 267 | 19 | 1,188 | 1,184 | Hal pressed his back against the headstone, a few more bullets ricocheting around him. He didn't know what the deal with the crazy surge of energy was, but he wasn't willing to put any kind of uncertainty against a very real, very physical bullet. Someone yelled, then a few shots clattered into what sounded like metal. Hal risked a peek around the stone, to be rewarded with another hail of shots and one... well, somewhat valuable piece of information. Someone else was here fighting his opponents too, though it looked like they were roughly in the same weapon situation he was. Eventually--probably sooner, rather than later--they were going to get tired of wasting likely scarce bullets and come for him.
But what about...
He looked down at his scarf, then smiled slightly and flicked it back around his neck again as the sounds of fire started to die down, the world fading once more into a transparent, dreamy state... And his own presence vanishing from the eyes of any watching. Hal leaped up, sprinting out from behind the tombstone and toward the first of the four advancing toward him, his bident seeming to move of its own accord. One swat knocked the gun out of his hand, the following jab to his leg causing him to drop to the ground in pain.
Not... Not death though.
Which was more than Hal could say for the other's victim. A second shriek shook the cemetery, another surge of black energy blasting out of his body and smashing into Hal, his staminia leaping again.
There was only one problem.
They had a pretty damn good idea of where he was. | God Name: Nezha
Mortal Name: Ning Liánhuā
Origin: Chinese, Third Lotus Prince and Protector of Drivers
God History: en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nezha_(deity)
Personality: As a child deity, Nezha was born with laughter in his eyes, living a youthful and carefree life. But he was was also headstrong with near unmovable opinion, while his strong sense of right and wrong pitted him against evil and powerful foes. As a human, Li is an orphan that makes his living by working in a flowershop, while displaying a rare form of kindness in our day, from feeding strays to giving half his lunch money to the homeless.
Weapon: Armillary Sash: Having the initial form of a simple red scarf, this enchanted sash can reach near limitless lengths and can be used both as a trapping device as well as a weapon.
Flaming Spear: Creation and manipulation of heat and fire.
Wind Fire Wheels: Nezha's most recognizable and favored tool, these take the form of two mundane rollerblades.
Relationship/friendship: Being rivals in the past, Nezha now shares a close friendship with the Monkey King, Sun Wukong.
Other: Knows a variety of martial arts and has excellent herbal knowledge. |
9,415 | 267 | 20 | 180 | 1,444 | Wepwawet- Seattle, WA
A bright light pierced the sky while Kasim had been navigating himself over some rubble. Even from a far it was enough to temporarily blind him when he first saw it. A few seconds later it died down, leaving only Kasim's memory of the direction it appeared from to guide him, his curiosity peaked to whom had sent out such a beacon. By the time he reached the destination however he was met with only disappointment for whoever had sent it was gone. All he could find was perhaps the direction the person had come from. He followed the light tracks back to where what seemed like a fight had happened. Once more though there were no bodies or people to be found. Kasim began to feel as if he was the last man alive with how deserted everything was. Giving up on trying to find the person who had sent out the beacon he went about savaging supplies, entering a building that seemed mostly intact.
While working his way through the rooms he heard noise from above, a muffled sound that sounded like someone speaking with some pounding on perhaps was a door. He cautiously kept moving making his way up unsure what to find in the building.
Lyssa/Mania- Chicago, IL
Scorn hummed to herself as she dabbed her finger in a puddle of blood she had kept from one of her recent playmates. With a world gone to hell, everything simply now could be her canvas. She had picked the side of a building a bit distance away from where she had awoken and began working on her art. To most it probably just seemed to be sporadic blood splatter but art was in the eye of the beholder was it not? She snickered to herself, continuing her fun only to be brought out of her focus with hearing a meow. She spun around to see a cat a short distance away.
"Here kitty, kitty," she called getting up and slowly walking over. Just when the cat was in arm's length however, it sped off down the street and made a turn.
"Aw come back," she cried out giving chase, all thought on her artwork gone, now her focus on catching up on the cat. | God Name: Thor
Mortal Name: Tormun Askan
Origin/God of: Norse-God of thunder, lightning, storms, strength and war
Appearance: Looks to be in the late twenties. 6'4" tall with a muscular physique he seems to giant over others around him. He has shaggy blond hair. The skin on his face, and rest of his body, is pale white and his eyes are an ice blue. His face also has a broken nose, a small scar on his right cheek and an always smiling mouth. His arms are well muscled and extremely strong. His large barrel chest is toned and two tattoo adorn it. One is of two hammers crossed, with the words 'Strength and Honour' written over the top, and is over his heart. The other is on his back and shows the face of two goats, their horns interlocked. He woke up wearing black jeans, t-shirt and a bright red zip-up hoody that flaps around in the slightest wind.
Personality: Loud and boisterous he can never back down from a challenge. While he may be loud he does love to spend time by himself. Quick to anger but just as quick to calm down his anger normally only lasts a few seconds or until the fight is over.
Weapon(s) : Hammer called Mjollnir (can change size), gloves called Megingjard (improves his strength)
Relationships/friendships:
Other: Is an alcoholic.
God Name: Xuan Wu
Mortal Name: Xavier Windsor
Origin/God of: Chinese-God of martial arts and war. He can't be defeated due to his strategic mind and his fighting prowess. Knows all types of fighting styles and is normally a master of all.
Apperance: Looks to be around young twenties. At 5'6" he is of slightly smaller than average height and is skinny. His lack of muscles makes him extremely fast and agile which comes in useful when fighting. He has black eyes, long black hair that is usually tied in a ponytail but comes loose often, and a small scar over his lip. His chest and arms are tattoed, His chest is covered in tattoos of weapons while his arms are tattooed with an image of a snake and a turtle. He woke up wearing black jeans, t-shirt and hood.
Personality: Quiet and driven he normally hangs at the back of any group and observe. Hard to anger but once angered he takes time to calm down.
Weapon(s): Black Wudang sword, his martial art skills and his chi.
Relationships/friendships:
Other: Doesn't get jokes very well. His snake tattoo will be able to come to life and help him in fights; spitting poison, biting enemies, crushing enemies. His sword changes to any weapon he has fought with before. |
9,416 | 267 | 21 | 388 | 334 | Sophia
"If you can't lay them, slay them."
Current Attire
Necklace
Here
Location
Seattle - Fifth Floor of an Apartment Building
OCC:
Hope it's ok to break out the drugs. After all, she is the ultimate party girl
Thor approached her, bearing a gift. He presented the most beautiful unique kittens she had ever seen. He stated that he had found them while he was fishing for a sea dragon and could only think of one woman who could provide a home for them. Delighted, she reached out to take them and gasped in realization that the two cats were blue. Kindly, Freya was enchanted with Thor's present and did the kittens honor by letting them accompany her on her daily rounds across the sky...
Sophia awoke suddenly, and was distraught to find that she was still suffering from a fuzzy haze. She rose from the bed, rubbing her temples, trying to ease the pounding headache. Opening her eyes, she caught sight of a mirror on her bedside table where a small amount of white powder remained. A razor blade and a rolled up one hundred dollar bill lay next to the mirror. Perhaps a pick me up would relieve the veil which cloaked her mind. She moved towards the mirror to fix herself a line, then indulged the upper quickly through her nose. She leaned her head back as the drug lessened her haze...but did not make it go away. Meow... Sophia turned at the soft sound, surprised to find two cats that stared intensely back at her. She fell to her knees and began the typical cat lover ritual. "Hi pretty kitties! She cooed and lovingly caressed the two cats. "Oh mommy loves you so much! Yes I do. She spent over five minutes showing the cats affection and was happy to see the two respond likewise.
A knock at the door startled her followed by a man's voice. It must have belonged to the gentleman she had rescued earlier. She rose from her cats, who were looking wearily towards the bedroom door. She checked her beautiful self in the mirror, straightened her dress, re-positioned her bodacious breasts, then smoothed her long blonde hair before advancing to open the door. She stood in the door, looking like the seductive goddess that she was and smiled lightly at the man. Hello. She extended her hand in the common American gesture and offered to shake upon greeting. "My name is Sophia. How are you feeling?" The ruby necklace pulsed against her neckline at the sight of a man. He appeared to be unharmed as her playful blue eyes gazed up at him. | God Name: Freya
or Freija, Frejya, Freyia, Fröja, Frøya, Frøjya, Freia, Freja, Frua and Freiya.
Mortal Name: Sophia
Origin/God of: Norse - Lady/Goddess associated with love, sexuality, beauty, fertility, gold, seiðr, war, and death
Apperance: A strawberry blonde with stunning blue eyes and a bodacious curvy bodice.
God history: Click Here or Here and Here
Personality: Freya is famous for her fondness of love, fertility, beauty, and fine material possessions – and, because of these predilections, she’s considered to be a “party girl”. She’s certainly a passionate seeker after pleasures and thrills of all kinds. Therefore, she is extremely outgoing and charismatic and knows how to throw a party. She is also a very sweet and generous woman in all aspects, whether it be sharing her spectacular body with sensual love, or her Seidr abilities. More on that in the Other category.
Her sensual side consists of her abundant appreciation for high-class materials, all kinds of music(especially the romantic kind), and floral arrangements. She wears modern day formal gowns that exhibit her amazing body only because walking around naked is not socially acceptable.
She loves cats, and owns two of them. Eventually with the development of her powers, these particular cats will be able to shape shift into modern day warrior cats, with a blue hue to pull her fabled chariot over a battlefield full of slain warriors. Concerning her warrior Valkyrie side, she is the goddess of war and death as well making her extremely strong-willed and opinionated.
Her social status is highly ambiguous – she is and will be by turns exalted, feared, longed for, propitiated, celebrated, and scorned throughout her adventures of this roleplay.
Weapon(s): Brisling/Brísingamen - a magical necklace reputedly made of amber and rubies which makes her irresistible to men
Relationships/friendships: None as of now but if any Norse gods/goddesses join up, we are automatically going to hit it off.
Other: Freya possesses falcon plumes that allow their bearer to shift her shape into that of a falcon. Warning this picture contains nudity. That being said, if Freya could walk around naked all the time and be socially accepted, she would.
Freya is the archetype of the völva, a professional practitioner of seidr, the most organized form of Norse magic. It was she who first brought this art to the gods, and, by extension, to humans as well. Given her expertise in controlling and manipulating the desires, health, and prosperity of others, she’s a being whose knowledge and power are almost without equal. |
9,417 | 267 | 22 | 1,154 | 1,925 | Atlas
His clothes were splattered with blood from the recent accident. He had just awoken an hour ago and he already felt tired and hollow. What kind of world was this? The world has gone to shit, and yet instead of uniting, most of these humans were too busy killing and tricking each other for their own personal gain. Reminds you of something, doesn't it? He asked himself. He wanted to see if he could find that woman's daughter. To try and do anything to help her, but there were a lot of things stopping him from doing that. He had no idea where she would even be, he heard distant gunfire, and he was afraid he might find the worst case scenario if he did.
He walked on to yet another deserted street when he heard a noise deep within an alleyway. He didn't need another person trying to sneak up and trick him. He lowered his stance a bit, and went to the corner of a building, staying as quiet as possible. He put his hand on his sword, bloodstained but still sharp. He didn't know what would be coming out of that alleyway, but he needed to be on high alert... Seconds of silence lasted for what seemed like years, and Eli finally lowered his sword. It might have been the--
"Shit!" Eli gasped, falling down from sheer surprise as something leaped out of the alleyway. His golden eyes stared in horror at the sight of the mighty...! Cat? It was just a regular looking house cat. Its fur dirty and matted from the years on its own, but other than that, it looked normal. It looked at him with what he could assume was amusement before looking back at in the alleyway and taking off again. Eli muttered a few things as he stood back up, and when looking down the road yet again, he froze. Another figure started walking down the destroyed street. Did he see Eli? Was he armed? Was he friendly or here to kill people? Or looking for his friends in the mechanic shop?
It was too late to hide... And as the man walked farther down the road, Eli grasped the hilt of his sword again, wishing he took a gun from the gang earlier.
--Sebastian | God Name: Atlas
Mortal Name: Eli Greene
Origin/God of: Greek. Titan Lord of Astronomy and Navigation. Bearer of the Heavens
Apperance: Eli is 6'2", with a very large muscular build. He has short light brown hair, with a darker trimmed beard, and a scar right above his right eye, separating his brow. His skin is a deep tan, and there are numerous scars all over his body, especially on his arms and top of his back. He wears a warm and worn travel jacket, with a dark shirt underneath. His jeans are faded, and he wears a pair of old boots. The most noticeable feature about him though are his eyes. They look like they are made of gold, being so light brown. They also show an immense amount of suffering and pain. As if he experienced something no one has ever felt before.
God history: Atlas is the son of Iapetus (the God of Mortality) and Clymene (Goddess of infamy, fame, and the renown). He is also the brother of Prometheus. He was a leader in the Titan War against the Greek Gods, and ultimately lost. His punishment was to stand on the west side of the Earth, and hold up the sky and heavens.
Personality: Atlas is on a road of redemption. He has a heavy heart, and tries his best to differ right from wrong. He is incredibly strong willed, and hard to sway when he has made up his mind. He has a sense of responsibility to help as many as he can, even in this horrible new world they are all now in.
Weapon(s): He has an old sword that he used in the Titan war long ago, but it isn't special.
Relationships/friendships: None yet
Other: "Tell me, Atlas, which is heavier? The world, or its people's hearts?" |
9,418 | 267 | 23 | 269 | 2,334 | Xuan Wu-Seattle
Xavier ran down the road. His shadow stretched a long distance in front of him. His breath came in loud puffs as his feet pounded the black asphalt. His black eyes looked around the fronts of houses. Occasionally the flick of curtains would tell him that someone was inside but he paid them no heed. His sword would protect him. He had spent the rest of the night and the rest of the day huddled in a tree house in the back of a abandoned property before he eventually drifted off to sleep.
As he entered the main city he noticed shops starting to appear. Not one window remained whole. Slowing down to a walk he walked down the main roads, occasionally moving around burnout cars. The main street was strewn with rubbish. There were no cars and all was silent. Corpses littered the ground and bullet holes were everywhere. As he peaked through the broken windows he noticed it was mostly food, water and camping gear taken rather than expensive items like TV’s and games. Xavier grimaced in worry. This was bad, if people were only stealing survival supplies then things were really bad. The faint sound of footsteps broke through Xavier’ quiet thoughts. He turned to look. The safer option was to run instead of seeking out the noise. The footsteps sounded loud, like a large group and faintly he could hear the ragged breathing and jingling of gear of a large group of people. The sound was getting louder as well.
He ran back up the street, diving into an alleyway to wait. Moments later a group of around 25 people ran by. Some held guns, while others ran weapons of all sorts. Hammers, baseball bats, bows, and makeshift spears. A few were holding large packs between the two of them and a few with poles holding animals tied between them. Peaking around the corner of alley he noticed how they all looked around. Must be returning to a base, he thought.
As they moved on and the light got darker Xavier moved off. His main objective was to find out what was going on. He was fine with food and water, he had his sword to protect himself. For shelter he could hide out in the abandoned buildings. The only thing he wanted was answers as to what was going on.
As he started running again he decided to try and find a group. Hopefully they wouldn’t try and kill him. As he carried on running he passed out of the city centre, where shops surrounded him, and into residential areas, where apartment complexes surrounded him. Deciding he needed a vantage point he head over to one, stepping through the twisted gates and in through the broken front door. It looked fancy enough but the bullet holes still showed signs of attack even here. He started climbing the stairs two at a time. As he went got up to the fifth floor the stairs stopped, breaking apart to a few bits of concrete and steel bars. I'm high enough he decided before walking through the halls. As he walked he pushed each door, occasionally knocking on locked doors or entering open ones to look for signs of life. As he reached the end a window showed a view of a desolate outside, trash piled on the streets, leaves flew everywhere and most cars where burnout. He turned facing the last door, it was the furthest from the stairs so probably the safest should he stay there. he could rig a few traps to alert him if anyone was coming. Knocking gently to see if there were signs of life he waited, his ears to the door. | God Name: Sin, a.k.a. Su'en, Nanna, Nanna-Su'en, En-zu
Mortal Name: Sebastian
Origin/God of: Mesopotamian god of wisdom and the moon
Appearance: Male, white, 180cm tall, and reasonably muscular (if apparently flagging from old age), with grey hair in a combover, a well-groomed and pointed beard running down to his solar plexus, and pale grey eyes. Wears a lapis blue businessman's suit over a white cotton shirt and blue-and-black checked tie, as well as darker blue socks and black shoes, all of apparently very high-quality build and tailor, as though he had spent an exorbitant amount of money upon them.
God history: Infodump.
Personality: Sin/Sebastian tends to be fairly friendly to most people, seeing no reason not to be when they've done him no particular wrong. In combination with a very significant amount of knowledge and instinctive ability to use that knowledge, he tends to naturally find himself in a leaderly position in any groups he is part of, and will often try to plan out tactics and strategies for anyone he is travelling with before any major actions are engaged in. That being said, he is definitely not a fighter, and will tend to stay back and perhaps give orders when a fight does break out, though he won't outright run from such a situation unless he is actively threatened with no reasonable defense.
Weapon(s): None specifically, though his superb knowledge regarding various subjects is not to be scoffed at. However, he does own a winged bull that is about as potentially lethal as any normal bull and can of course fly quite well even whilst carrying his weight; occasionally, he may also summon a sickle to wield on account of his association with the crescent moon, though this is evidently not the greatest weapon in existence, being intended as a farming tool, and will generally only be brought out as a last resort.
Relationships/friendships: Enlil (father), Ninlil (mother), Ningal (wife), Utu, Shamash (sons), Inanna, Ishtar (daughters)
God Name: Marduk, a.k.a. Martuk, Marutuk, amar-Utu (solar calf), Merodach, Mardochaios, Mĕrôdāk, Marōdak, Bel and variations therein (lord); various additional names to the number of fifty
Mortal Name: Jonathan
Origin/God of: Mesopotamian god of water, vegetation, judgement, and magic; patron deity of the city of Babylon. Different pantheon to Sin.
Appearance: Male, white, 185cm tall, and extremely well-toned, with slicked-back black hair, a clean-shaven face, and piercing green eyes. Wears a black businessman's suit and tie, alongside a white shirt, white socks, and black shoes, all of apparently very high-quality build and tailor, as though a large sum of money had been spent on them.
God history: Infodump.
Personality: Marduk/Jonathan is a surprisingly aggressive fellow. What little he presently remembers of his past has him being a leader and a conquerer, and this shows in his actions - though he is typically a "good guy" within his own stories, he is currently quick to anger, quick to judge, and very quick to lash out if insulted. That being said, he does try to be civil to the best of his abilities, and is a surprisingly capable warrior-leader, though his rather expansionistic past has resulted in a desire to always have more; as a deity for whom "more" translates to "everything everywhere" without any particular distinction or the present power to acquire such, he can often be found training his abilities and fighting skill, and will often be found flirting or coming on to both men and women when he is not doing either of these.
Weapon(s): Marduk's weapons are many and varied. The more mundane of his weapons include a bow and arrows, a mace, a spade, and a net that seems to be capable of growing to whatever size is needed to ensnare a foe, whilst his more magic-oriented weapons include a storm-chariot drawn by four poison-mouthed horses (specifically, they may spit a terrifically strong necrotic venom at foes or bite them to inject it), and magical control over many elemental forces such as lightning, fire, wind and water, which he can weave into a variety of forms, with specific powers being the capacity to trap others with wind, resistance or even immunity to poison, and the capacity to "fill himself" with a given element, and thus transform into something like what modern-day humans would refer to as an elemental. His strongest magics, including storm winds such as tornadoes and his ultimate power of the rain-flood, as well as his additional symbol of a snake-dragon capable of flight and fire-breathing amongst other traits, are currently inaccessible to him, but he is nevertheless a force to be reckoned with, especially since he may also summon unto himself the Tablet of Destinies, something intended to grant control over all the universe to whosoever wields it... and which currently seems to be a dead lump of cooked clay, unfortunately. Or maybe it always was, and was just a legal document stating that the owner legally ruled the universe; he's not quite sure at this point in time, but he is sure that its legal ramifications are meaningless in the world's current state, so he doesn't typically bring it out. Y'know, just in case.
Relationships/friendships: Ea (father and successor as pantheon head), Damkina (mother), Ṣarpanitum (wife), Nabu (son and co-regent), Ashur (rival), Tiamat and Kingu (enemies, previously defeated in battle)
Other: As he remembers more of his history, Marduk may well end up becoming a more balanced individual personality-wise. Or maybe he won't. We simply don't know. |
9,419 | 267 | 24 | 1,802 | 272 | Yasmine's pace remained steady as she trekked through the dust and debris. Her legs, bare thanks to her frayed shorts, were coated in a fine layer of dirt and the occasional pebble would slip into her sandals. Despite this, Yasmine felt no need to rest as she easily balanced and leapt over and around chunks of concrete. The cat, ever at the lead, would glance back once or twice at the woman. It's eyes remained narrowed with an almost intelligent gleam in them, as if saying, “Are you still following?”
A sudden explosion of gunfire rang through the air, bringing both cat and girl to a halt. Yasmine's mouth went dry as her eyes scanned the surrounding area. She had been hoping to find some sort of sign of human life, but not like this. Not with a possible bullet through her skull. The gunfire had sounded like it came from off in the distant left. Far enough to prove no current threat, but close enough to be future trouble. The cat stared in the direction of the shots, it's ears flicking tensely and its tail hanging low. It stood so still that if a person were to pass by, they would assume it was a statue.
Then, without warning, the cat raced away...towards the gunfire.
Yasmine's eyes widened with alarm and confusion as her guide sped towards danger. Weren't they supposed to go away from the danger?! She muttered a swear before running after. It was a stupid idea, no doubt, but she felt a connection with the animal. She wanted--no, needed to protect it, even if it meant running towards a lead-filled death.
The sistrum rattled as Yasmine hurried after her runaway companion. The dust and rocks bothered her no more as her legs moved gracefully across the land.
Yasmine slowed as the cat vanished into some ruins. Her chest felt like it was on fire, and the ache in her legs from walking and running was starting to get to her. She walked through the ruins, her body rigid with caution. Debris hidden the shadows provided monster like forms in the dark, adding to the ruin's already creepy aura. The stench of copper mixed with what could only be a dead rat's stink, clouding the air.
Yasmine leaned against the wall, only to recoil in disgust as something sticky made contact with her skin. "The hell...?" she muttered, glancing at her arm. She froze as she saw a thick coat of red where she had made contact with the wall. All at once, the real details of her surroundings snapped into place. Blood on the walls. Death in the air. And the debris in the darkness...that wasn't debris. They were corpses. The woman's stomach clenched in revulsion. Oh gods...I need to get out before--
Before she could turn, a brown blur sped past her legs. The cat! It was alright! Yasmine's relief was short lived as a skeleton emerged, trailing behind the cat. Well, not a real skeleton at least. But with the skull face paint and the bloody hand, on could easily make the assumption. Yasmine stared at the woman and tightened the grip on her sistrum.
"Well...this is a surprise," Yasmine greeted, struggling to keep her voice steady. Her fists clenched, ready to fight if needed. "Who are you?" | God Name: Bast/Bastet
Mortal Name: Yasmine
Origin: Egypt -- Cat Goddess of Music, Dance, and Fertility; Protector of the Household and Pregnant Women
Appearance:
God History: History
Personality: Independant and laid-back, Bast's nature is very similar to that of a cat's. She refuses to take commands, preferring to do things as she pleased and go at her own pace. However, she is far from lazy. In battle, Bast is as fierce as a lion. She's extremely protective of those she cares about, and will mercilessly take down anything that dares to hurt them.
Being a goddess of fertility and protector of pregnant women, Bast holds deep affection towards children. She'll often act like a mother towards those younger than her, and holds a patience towards those in pregnancy.
Bast is, to say the least, a sensual goddess. She's very playful, and will often flirt with everyone. Gods, goddesses, mortals -- she's never too shy about her various advancements.
Weapon:
Sistrum -- When played, this rattle-like instrument can lure in or summon felines, such as cats and even a lion, if Bast grows powerful enough. Further down the line, Bast can gain the ability to even transform into a feline form if the Sistrum is played and dance to.
Relationship/friendship: N/A
Other:
- Inhumanly agile and flexible
- Can heal mild illnesses and diseases
- Can lure or summon a feline companion
- Can later on gain the ability to change and alter her form to that of a cat or lion
- Likes cats. A lot. Like seriously, she's a fur filled house away from being a crazy cat lady. |
9,420 | 267 | 25 | 1,293 | 2,511 | Judge walked through the streets as the sounds of more gunshots went off. As he arrived on the scene, he noticed that only three men remain and that the two pole-murderers were together now. All of a sudden, Judge felt himself become lost within his mind again. A voice too strong and bold for his figure coming from his lips.
"Your Judgement shall begin now, I sentence you to the abyssal planes of Tuat where you shall rot for all eternity."
At these words, Beast leaped up and mauled one of the three, while Judge used his one bullet to kill another. He then walked up to the last one and pointed the gun at his head while two surges from his victims surged towards the invisible one.
"If you dare move an inch, I will splatter your brain into the cement. Besides, do you truly believe you can take on the three of us?" Now, get out of here before I change my mind and force you to suffer the same judgment as your friends."
As the last bandit ran off, Judge returned to normal and he looked towards where he last remembered the two being at. "Heh, you guys looked like you could use some help." Judge suddenly became extremely awkward for somebody who just killed two people and intimidated another. He sat down on the ground and cuddled up next to Beast. "You guys still here, because I know one of you turned invisible." | WIP
God Name: Anubis
Mortal Name: Abel
Origin/God of: Egyptian - God of Death, Rebirth, Truth, The Soul, and Judgement
Appearance:
God history: Anubis Stuff
Personality: Typically a shy and quiet kid, Abel avoids interaction at all costs. When he does interact with people, he can't help but distrust them. He refuses to believe anyone's words unless they are holding the feather of truth and before he remembers the feathers capabilities, he won't trust people at all.
Once he does connect with someone enough to trust, he can't help but get attached and follow them around like a lost puppy. This is due to his confusing past and not knowing who is what to him. The only thing that has always stayed constant is that Wepwawet is his brother, Set is related to him in some way, and Osiris becomes his king. If he ever finds one of these three, he will cling to them more than anyone else.
Abel also does not understand the concept of love. He has never felt the need for it and doesn't understand when someone is flirting with him.
Weapon(s) : The feather of truth, anyone who holds it can only speak the truth, and the beast that eats the souls of those who fail judgement, currently taking the form of a German Shepherd.
Relationships/friendships: Set = ummmmm....., Wepwawet = brother.
Other: Anubis usually never sets foot in the mortal realm, and due to this he can fade in and out of existence for small periods of time. This makes it look like he is teleporting very short distances. |
9,421 | 267 | 26 | 1,188 | 1,184 | Yeah, just a little... Oogh.
To say Hal felt high was an understatement, his ears ringing from two more screeches. He upwrapped the scarf, reappearing and holding a hand to his forehead. That many surges overcharged his reservoir, giving him the stressed feeling of circuits straining to their absolute max with electricity. He needed some way to vent it, to get rid of some of the power... Maybe... Hal outstretched his hands, the dead grass in the cemetery seeming to gain a little greenness to it. He turned back to his own gravestone, kneeling next to the nearly dead lily plant that was placed over where his head would have rested. His right hand caressed a dead bloom, power draining from his straining reservoir, the life of the dead gunmen flowing into the lily... It turned green, its blooms perking up and turning white once again.
Hal Desmond, the tombstone said... But that wasn't who he was, not really, no matter what he might want to be. The name Hades was still ringing loudly in his mind.
"Rest in peace, Hal..."
He stood, turning to the new arrival and the other spear wielder. They were the only two who hadn't tried to kill him outright...
"Who are both of you? I appreciate the assistance, but... Was just kinda in a battle with the only people I've met here besides you. Would like to know who my saviors are." | God Name: Nezha
Mortal Name: Ning Liánhuā
Origin: Chinese, Third Lotus Prince and Protector of Drivers
God History: en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nezha_(deity)
Personality: As a child deity, Nezha was born with laughter in his eyes, living a youthful and carefree life. But he was was also headstrong with near unmovable opinion, while his strong sense of right and wrong pitted him against evil and powerful foes. As a human, Li is an orphan that makes his living by working in a flowershop, while displaying a rare form of kindness in our day, from feeding strays to giving half his lunch money to the homeless.
Weapon: Armillary Sash: Having the initial form of a simple red scarf, this enchanted sash can reach near limitless lengths and can be used both as a trapping device as well as a weapon.
Flaming Spear: Creation and manipulation of heat and fire.
Wind Fire Wheels: Nezha's most recognizable and favored tool, these take the form of two mundane rollerblades.
Relationship/friendship: Being rivals in the past, Nezha now shares a close friendship with the Monkey King, Sun Wukong.
Other: Knows a variety of martial arts and has excellent herbal knowledge. |
9,422 | 267 | 27 | 180 | 1,444 | Wepwawet- Seattle, WA
Deciding to keep going, Kasim worked his way floor by floor up the building, being cautious with each room he entered not knowing if there were other scavengers that were inside who could be hostile. Most of the building seemed to of been ransacked with little to offer but something drew him further up into the building.
He was just getting to the fifth floor when he heard noise once more. Unsure who or what it could be he hid in the first room on the floor looking down the hallway after a few seconds to catch a glimpse of who or what made the noise. Looking he saw nothing leaving him to wait and hopefully try and hear the sound again or ponder if he was hearing things.
Lyssa/Mania- Chicago, IL
Scorn kept up with the cat as best she could be it seemed whenever she got to close it got an extra burst of speed. She was focused so much on the task at hand she nearly ran right over the person that now stood in her way. She skidded to a halt and stopped only a few feet in front of the other person, her mind debating on what to do with this new 'friend' she had just found. She could just be done and quickly have her fun but something about this person made her think otherwise on that oddly. Internally she fought with the voices in her head, some said kill other said befriend. Eventually befriend won out and she gave a twisted smile to the new person in front of her as she heard them speak.
"Me? Oh I'm the lovely Scorn," she said giving an exaggerated bow ",Pleasure to meet you, um?" she said extending a hand, first the one that was still covered in blood. She quickly switched hands hiding that one behind her back giving a fake smile of innocence.
"Sorry about the mess but these few guys were going to do some unsavory things so it was in self defense," she said sweetly ",But enough about me what about you? Who are you and what fun have you had in this apocalyptic play-land? Oh by the way did you see a cat, shot by here a few seconds ago? Just wanted to pet it but it just ran off." She shot off a question a mile a minute, looking over the other person to see if she could catch a glimpse of the cat.
"Hey why not stick together, after all very few friendly people about here from what I've seen," Scorn suggested before even letting the poor woman who stood before her to reply to her other many questions. | God Name: Thor
Mortal Name: Tormun Askan
Origin/God of: Norse-God of thunder, lightning, storms, strength and war
Appearance: Looks to be in the late twenties. 6'4" tall with a muscular physique he seems to giant over others around him. He has shaggy blond hair. The skin on his face, and rest of his body, is pale white and his eyes are an ice blue. His face also has a broken nose, a small scar on his right cheek and an always smiling mouth. His arms are well muscled and extremely strong. His large barrel chest is toned and two tattoo adorn it. One is of two hammers crossed, with the words 'Strength and Honour' written over the top, and is over his heart. The other is on his back and shows the face of two goats, their horns interlocked. He woke up wearing black jeans, t-shirt and a bright red zip-up hoody that flaps around in the slightest wind.
Personality: Loud and boisterous he can never back down from a challenge. While he may be loud he does love to spend time by himself. Quick to anger but just as quick to calm down his anger normally only lasts a few seconds or until the fight is over.
Weapon(s) : Hammer called Mjollnir (can change size), gloves called Megingjard (improves his strength)
Relationships/friendships:
Other: Is an alcoholic.
God Name: Xuan Wu
Mortal Name: Xavier Windsor
Origin/God of: Chinese-God of martial arts and war. He can't be defeated due to his strategic mind and his fighting prowess. Knows all types of fighting styles and is normally a master of all.
Apperance: Looks to be around young twenties. At 5'6" he is of slightly smaller than average height and is skinny. His lack of muscles makes him extremely fast and agile which comes in useful when fighting. He has black eyes, long black hair that is usually tied in a ponytail but comes loose often, and a small scar over his lip. His chest and arms are tattoed, His chest is covered in tattoos of weapons while his arms are tattooed with an image of a snake and a turtle. He woke up wearing black jeans, t-shirt and hood.
Personality: Quiet and driven he normally hangs at the back of any group and observe. Hard to anger but once angered he takes time to calm down.
Weapon(s): Black Wudang sword, his martial art skills and his chi.
Relationships/friendships:
Other: Doesn't get jokes very well. His snake tattoo will be able to come to life and help him in fights; spitting poison, biting enemies, crushing enemies. His sword changes to any weapon he has fought with before. |
9,423 | 267 | 28 | 1,154 | 1,925 | Poseidon
The screech came again, and this time it was much louder than it was a few blocks away. A wave of dread and a sense of fear entered Ben's body, causing him to land on all fours from behind the car. It was something that felt familiar before. The thought of becoming, drifting in the darkness while everything else moved ahead of you... It was an intense feeling, and one he didn't want to visit again. He came back to the sound of a deep voice... And by the fact that he was still alive, he assumed that the thieves never found him, or didn't have a chance to. Peering over the car he saw a man state his authority, declaring judgement and killing two of the three remaining hostiles. When the last one ran away from the crowd, Ben slowly rose from his cover spot, looking at the two men. Both obviously had the skills to easily kill one another, but for some reason... They didn't. Maybe it was because they all showed a bit of uncertainty, and that they knew what each other were going through.
Ben walked over to the two other men, one cuddling a German Shepard and the other paying respects to an empty grave and tombstone. Ben saw no threat from either of them, and as the two talked, Ben couldn't help but look more over to the one at the grave. He definitely had the more interesting trait, almost as if he remembered it before. It was something that he should have feared, but for a strange reason it brought some sort of... comfort. As if it was one thing he could trust...
"I am Ben." The man said with a deep tone, the breeze moving his black hair a bit. He looked over at Hal, and nodded towards the tombstone. "You know him?"
-------------------------------------------------
Atlas
The man held a calf. He had seen a lot of weird things in his time in this gods forsaken city, but this was rather unusual to him. The man was obviously not a threat. He didn't know why really. He had a weapon himself, but he came towards him with curiosity. He didn't ask for his help, he didn't threaten him for his backpack, he simply greeted him, and asked (in a very polite way) what the fuck happened to him. Eli looked down at his sword, he didn't feel like he'd need it, but he kept a tight grip on it just in case. Eli didn't talk at first. He simply looked at the man for a few seconds, debating on how exactly to answer this. He didn't feel like telling him everything that went on, how he didn't know how he got here or where he was, because that could be information that could get Eli killed.
"I trusted someone I shouldn't have." Was Eli's reply, his voice a bit rough and broken. He pointed to the calf, giving half of a laugh. "It seems you have had better luck than I have. From what I've experienced in his damned city, you might as well be walking around with a sign that says 'Free Food.'" He said, his golden eyes examining the man yet again to make sure he was someone he could trust for now. "You traveling alone? Or bringing him back to your friends?" Eli obviously didn't know how much that calf meant to the man. he assumed he was taking it to eat for the food. He would have asked for a name first, but he needed to know how many people were with him. He could never be too careful in this world. | God Name: Atlas
Mortal Name: Eli Greene
Origin/God of: Greek. Titan Lord of Astronomy and Navigation. Bearer of the Heavens
Apperance: Eli is 6'2", with a very large muscular build. He has short light brown hair, with a darker trimmed beard, and a scar right above his right eye, separating his brow. His skin is a deep tan, and there are numerous scars all over his body, especially on his arms and top of his back. He wears a warm and worn travel jacket, with a dark shirt underneath. His jeans are faded, and he wears a pair of old boots. The most noticeable feature about him though are his eyes. They look like they are made of gold, being so light brown. They also show an immense amount of suffering and pain. As if he experienced something no one has ever felt before.
God history: Atlas is the son of Iapetus (the God of Mortality) and Clymene (Goddess of infamy, fame, and the renown). He is also the brother of Prometheus. He was a leader in the Titan War against the Greek Gods, and ultimately lost. His punishment was to stand on the west side of the Earth, and hold up the sky and heavens.
Personality: Atlas is on a road of redemption. He has a heavy heart, and tries his best to differ right from wrong. He is incredibly strong willed, and hard to sway when he has made up his mind. He has a sense of responsibility to help as many as he can, even in this horrible new world they are all now in.
Weapon(s): He has an old sword that he used in the Titan war long ago, but it isn't special.
Relationships/friendships: None yet
Other: "Tell me, Atlas, which is heavier? The world, or its people's hearts?" |
9,424 | 267 | 29 | 1,918 | 8,265 | Set
"No need to apologize, it's not everyday that you literally run into a beautiful woman like yourself, especially given the current state of affairs. It feels like I stepped into one of those bad Post-apocalyptic movies that everyone loves. To be honest, can't say I mind it too much, it's exciting." Set smiled at the girl, before bringing up his his fingers to let out a whistle. After a moment, his red-eyed hound appeared, seemingly as unconcerned with the heat as it's master. Set noticed that the fur around it's mouth was stained a fresh shade of red as he bent down to pet the creature.
"Whoops, sorry to call you away from your meal . . . Humphry," Set said after a moment, deciding the animal's name on a whim. Humphry, however, looked none too pleased by his new name, letting out a low growl of warning. Set simply looked down at the with a cold look, at that was the end of that. Once his hound had been wrought back under control, he turned back to Lily, looking around as he did so. "So, Lily, pleasure to meet you and all, but you wouldn't happened to have a camp nearby, would you?"
Quetzalcoatl
Quetzal wasn't quite sure what he'd been expecting his savior to look like, but a blonde bombshell in a fancy dress was certainly pretty low on his list of suspects. He numbly took her hand, not speaking for a moment before he finally found his voice, clearing his throat a little as he got the words out.
"I'm, Uh-*cough* *cough*- I'm f-f-fine, thanks to you, Miss Sophia. Nothing some rest can't fix, and I'd probably have been picked clean by scavenger if not for your kindness." Quetzal face dipped into a look of melancholy as his thoughts turned to how bleak and dark the world had become, but he shook his head clear as he realized he was being rude to the woman by doing so. "Um, anyway, My name is Damian, and I can't express enough of my gratitude to you. If you need anything, then consider me at your service."
Before he could go on, or the woman could answer, he heard a voice whisper to him from the shell upon his neck. Curiously, he brought it up to his ear. As a gust of air blew through it's spiral design, the breeze whispered to him.
You're not alone.
As mysterious as the voice was, he couldn't help but feel as if he should heed it's warning as truth. He couldn't explain why he felt that way anymore than he could explain why he put it up to his ear or how he managed to take out all of those men. He just felt impulse and acted on them, and it had gotten him pretty far, so no need to begin questioning them now.
"Miss Sophia, I don't think we're alone in this building any longer. I'm not sure how you wish to handle it, but I'd prefer to avoid bloodshed if possible. Avoiding conflict and coming to a peaceful solution would be nice, but my early experience has shown that to be unlikely. | CS:
God Name:Set
Mortal Name: Jayden
Origin/God of: Egyptian God of Deserts, Storms, Chaos, Foreigners, and War.
Apperance:
God history: can be a link, or you can use your knowledge! haha
Personality:Jayden/Set is a bit reckless and wild, overcome with a desire to live free and by his own rules. He always tries to be the head of the pack, and doesn't take kindly to having that position challenged. When it comes to fighting, you'll never find him seem more alive, as bloodshed just brings a smile to his face that begets a disturbing serenity in the chaos that is him. He also a quick wit and some what sarcastic, quick to make a joke at another expense the moment he sees the opportunity.
However, despite these qualities, Set isn't that bad of a guy. While he shouldn't be trusted in most situations, he knows his duty and will always seek to fulfil it. He can be very protective over those he cares for or feels duty bound to help, and any who seek to harm those under his protection will have the sands turned red with thèir blood for their transgressions.
Weapons:A Khopesh and his Signature beast, the Set Animal
Relationships/friendships: Anubis=It's complicated
Other:As a god of the Desert, he brings it everywhere he goes, able to turn any inorganic material into Sand with but a touch and enough focus. This and all sand is at his beck and call, able to bend to his will if enough focus is put into it. At the start, he can't control much more than a mound half his size and it takes some concentration to move it, though not as much as it takes to create sand. Once created, however, it will always follow him, melding with his skin until it's time to be called forth once again.
Aside from that, he's also a natural skilled fighter, able to use any weapon placed on his hands with much skill, though he holds a preference for melee combat. Along with this is his animal companion, The Set Animal, who takes the form of a large fog when it's not in battle. When ever it's master is in trouble, however, he can transform into a somewhat larger beast with a head similar to a jackal with long ears and a mouth full of teeth. The Set animal is a dangerous beast, having increases stength, speed, and durability when compared to other animals, and having all the ferocity of a Sandstorm as well, making it a for e to be reckoned with.
((Appearances and History to come later))
CS:
God Name:Quetzalcoatl
Mortal Name: Damian
Origin/God of: Aztec God of the West Wind, the Morning Star/The Dawn, Justice , Priesthood, Learning, and the Arts
Apperance:Damian is a tall, if skinny man at around 6'2, with a somewhat muscular frame. His skin is a dark tan color and his face is rather handsome in it's own way. His eyes are a deep jade green, the pupils being only slightly elongated in comparison to the normal human eye, his hair was coarse as it swept it's way across it's head in a vibrant array of colors, mostly a mix of reds, blues, and dark greens, though a few others were in there as well. His teeth are mostly normal except for his canines, which are thinner than normal and rather sharp at the point, like pseudo-fangs.
Also, across his torso and upper arms are a number of scale-like tattoos.
God history: can be a link, or you can use your knowledge! haha
Personality:Damian/Quetzalcoatl is a very intellectual individual, always eager to learn as much as he can, and teach others what he's discovered. He's a very cheerful, upbeat guy who keeps a shroud of optimism even in these dark times. He always is on the look out for something beautiful to capture it's image in a painting or drawing of somekind.
Damian/Queztalcoatl abhors needless violence, finding such acts appalling and those who commit them to be disdainful and savage. That being said, if it's in the defense of someone else, he'll fight to the bitter end until righteousness prevails, or he dies trying to preserve it.
Weapon(s) :He has no weapons truly, but he does posses a Aztec Wind Jewel(a conch shell that's been cut in half to show a spiral design) which helps him focus his powers and he can listen to see if he can learn any bits of knowledge caught by the west wind.
Relationships/friendships: Can be progressed through the RP, mostly made for which characters you have a connection with
Other:
He's able to manipulate the wind and air to his whims, currently all he can do is push people around with sudden gusts, but if he focuses on his gem he can channel those gusts in to blades and drills, though it's more tiring. He can also take strength from the stars, either to make him momentarily shine brightly like a human-sized flash bang, or use it to form weaponry out of starlight, though this is his most draining ability and can only be done for a short time before he falls unconscious, at the moment, anyway.
He can also communicate with birds and reptiles to an extent, though translating the knowledge he gains to others is difficult due to the differences in how the creatures process information. Any of his offense powers are more effective against forces of evil than other things, as their essence is being exercised by the power of his inner light. |
9,425 | 267 | 30 | 388 | 334 | Sophia
"If you can't lay them, slay them."
Current Attire
Necklace
Here
Location
Seattle - Fifth Floor of an Apartment Building
OCC:
None for now
A soft smile played upon her supple lips as her rare azure lanterns locked with the man's gaze. He was a lot taller than she, a physicality that she preferred in a man. She stood, relaxed within the door frame of the bedroom while he struggled to find his voice. Considering his weathered condition, it was obvious it had been awhile since he had seen a woman, especially one as beautiful as she. Lucky for her, the whole "world in chaos" situation had been far to kind. She wasn't sure if it was due to her charm and elegant grace, or her talents to always get what she wanted...seeing as everything was fuzzy. Why won't this headache go away?? It was honestly infuriating, this lack of memory and the ability to recall what she did last night. She figured the cocaine would stimulate herself out of the fuzzy coma but all it did was make her restless.
"Um, anyway, My name is Damian, and I can't express enough of my gratitude to you. If you need anything, then consider me at your service." "Damian.... She gracefully closed the distance between them, never taking her seductive gaze away from him. "...anything I need? Her eyes fell to his lower extremities, then slowly rose as she eyed his physical appearance, as a hunter would observe his prey. "Don't make promises that you can't keep, darling." She then brushed passed him, her warm skin connecting with his briefly. She was eager to find something to drink. She wasn't exactly sure what she was thirsty for....but alcohol was always the answer right? Plus, she needed to offer a guest some refreshments. That would be the proper thing to do.
"I'm sure you're thirsty from your travels. Sit down, relax. Take a load off." She called out to him as she danced into the kitchen, the cocaine spiking energy into her veins. She retrieved a bottle of wine along with a bottle of water. As she returned to the living room, she tossed the bottle of water to the man, automatically assuming that he wasn't the alcoholic type. If he did feel like indulging, hopefully he would be a man and just ask for what he wanted. Whether it be the alcohol...or her.
"Miss Sophia, I don't think we're alone in this building any longer. I'm not sure how you wish to handle it, but I'd prefer to avoid bloodshed if possible. Avoiding conflict and coming to a peaceful solution would be nice, but my early experience has shown that to be unlikely" She suddenly had the overwhelming feeling that they in fact were no longer alone. Perhaps it was the man in her bed from earlier? She hoped it was, seeing as she had so many questions for him. She didn't mind more company. In fact, she welcomed it, being the social butterfly that she was. Her voice was loud, yet sweet as honey. "You're welcome to join us, whoever you are out there." She highly doubted that whoever was about to make their grand entrance could be a threat, and even if they were, she was confident that she would be able to handle herself. As if in response, her ruby necklace pulsed defiantly against her heart. | God Name: Freya
or Freija, Frejya, Freyia, Fröja, Frøya, Frøjya, Freia, Freja, Frua and Freiya.
Mortal Name: Sophia
Origin/God of: Norse - Lady/Goddess associated with love, sexuality, beauty, fertility, gold, seiðr, war, and death
Apperance: A strawberry blonde with stunning blue eyes and a bodacious curvy bodice.
God history: Click Here or Here and Here
Personality: Freya is famous for her fondness of love, fertility, beauty, and fine material possessions – and, because of these predilections, she’s considered to be a “party girl”. She’s certainly a passionate seeker after pleasures and thrills of all kinds. Therefore, she is extremely outgoing and charismatic and knows how to throw a party. She is also a very sweet and generous woman in all aspects, whether it be sharing her spectacular body with sensual love, or her Seidr abilities. More on that in the Other category.
Her sensual side consists of her abundant appreciation for high-class materials, all kinds of music(especially the romantic kind), and floral arrangements. She wears modern day formal gowns that exhibit her amazing body only because walking around naked is not socially acceptable.
She loves cats, and owns two of them. Eventually with the development of her powers, these particular cats will be able to shape shift into modern day warrior cats, with a blue hue to pull her fabled chariot over a battlefield full of slain warriors. Concerning her warrior Valkyrie side, she is the goddess of war and death as well making her extremely strong-willed and opinionated.
Her social status is highly ambiguous – she is and will be by turns exalted, feared, longed for, propitiated, celebrated, and scorned throughout her adventures of this roleplay.
Weapon(s): Brisling/Brísingamen - a magical necklace reputedly made of amber and rubies which makes her irresistible to men
Relationships/friendships: None as of now but if any Norse gods/goddesses join up, we are automatically going to hit it off.
Other: Freya possesses falcon plumes that allow their bearer to shift her shape into that of a falcon. Warning this picture contains nudity. That being said, if Freya could walk around naked all the time and be socially accepted, she would.
Freya is the archetype of the völva, a professional practitioner of seidr, the most organized form of Norse magic. It was she who first brought this art to the gods, and, by extension, to humans as well. Given her expertise in controlling and manipulating the desires, health, and prosperity of others, she’s a being whose knowledge and power are almost without equal. |
9,426 | 267 | 31 | 1,802 | 272 | Yasmine's head buzzed as she tried to process the newly arrived woman and her rapidly fired questions. There was something...off about the woman, Scorn. Something dangerous. But she didn't show any intent to kill Yasmine, so that was good. "Er...Yasmine. I'm Yasmine," she greete uneasily. She hesitantly reached out to shake the other's hand, wary of the blood. "I suppose we should stay together. If the people out there are as kind as your little," she gave the corpses a disturbed glance, "er, 'friends', then it's best to have a little company."
She was wary of Scorn, no doubt. But she felt drawn to the woman, perhaps by the same reason she was wary of her. Was this why the cat had led them together?
Yasmine tensed. Oh Gods. The cat! "So you're after my cat too, right?" She glanced behind in the direction her former companion had scampered off in. "Guess that gives us a common goal." The feline could've be anywhere by now. Maybe getting into trouble or even running into the middle of some tense confrontation. Her anxiety flared and she began to head forward. "Let's go find us that cat." | God Name: Bast/Bastet
Mortal Name: Yasmine
Origin: Egypt -- Cat Goddess of Music, Dance, and Fertility; Protector of the Household and Pregnant Women
Appearance:
God History: History
Personality: Independant and laid-back, Bast's nature is very similar to that of a cat's. She refuses to take commands, preferring to do things as she pleased and go at her own pace. However, she is far from lazy. In battle, Bast is as fierce as a lion. She's extremely protective of those she cares about, and will mercilessly take down anything that dares to hurt them.
Being a goddess of fertility and protector of pregnant women, Bast holds deep affection towards children. She'll often act like a mother towards those younger than her, and holds a patience towards those in pregnancy.
Bast is, to say the least, a sensual goddess. She's very playful, and will often flirt with everyone. Gods, goddesses, mortals -- she's never too shy about her various advancements.
Weapon:
Sistrum -- When played, this rattle-like instrument can lure in or summon felines, such as cats and even a lion, if Bast grows powerful enough. Further down the line, Bast can gain the ability to even transform into a feline form if the Sistrum is played and dance to.
Relationship/friendship: N/A
Other:
- Inhumanly agile and flexible
- Can heal mild illnesses and diseases
- Can lure or summon a feline companion
- Can later on gain the ability to change and alter her form to that of a cat or lion
- Likes cats. A lot. Like seriously, she's a fur filled house away from being a crazy cat lady. |
9,427 | 267 | 32 | 1,293 | 2,511 | And I'm..... A..Bi..... A, Beh? A bes? A ben, A What, what is it? Abel? Abel. "Abel... I'm.. I'm Abel."
Abel stood up and looked at the now healthy flower. It seemed highly familiar, that flower, that power, where is it from? From deep in your past, remember young Judge. Then it hit him, a wave of memories of a man in all black, a man who had treated him as his own son. A man who had died and been reborn countless of times. A man who had led the universe in it's true nature. This man was his king, his lord, his leader, ... his father. This is Osiris, It must be.
"Sir.... Lord Osiris... Do you remember me? You must be My Lord Osiris if you can fuel life through death. But do you know who I am? Besides Abel... Who I truly am?"
Abel walked up to the man and knelled beside him in a bow. He then looked up to him and awaited an answer, hoping that Osiris could tell Abel his real name. Hoping that Osiris would remember anything about Abel's past.
"Do you remember anything about me?" | WIP
God Name: Anubis
Mortal Name: Abel
Origin/God of: Egyptian - God of Death, Rebirth, Truth, The Soul, and Judgement
Appearance:
God history: Anubis Stuff
Personality: Typically a shy and quiet kid, Abel avoids interaction at all costs. When he does interact with people, he can't help but distrust them. He refuses to believe anyone's words unless they are holding the feather of truth and before he remembers the feathers capabilities, he won't trust people at all.
Once he does connect with someone enough to trust, he can't help but get attached and follow them around like a lost puppy. This is due to his confusing past and not knowing who is what to him. The only thing that has always stayed constant is that Wepwawet is his brother, Set is related to him in some way, and Osiris becomes his king. If he ever finds one of these three, he will cling to them more than anyone else.
Abel also does not understand the concept of love. He has never felt the need for it and doesn't understand when someone is flirting with him.
Weapon(s) : The feather of truth, anyone who holds it can only speak the truth, and the beast that eats the souls of those who fail judgement, currently taking the form of a German Shepherd.
Relationships/friendships: Set = ummmmm....., Wepwawet = brother.
Other: Anubis usually never sets foot in the mortal realm, and due to this he can fade in and out of existence for small periods of time. This makes it look like he is teleporting very short distances. |
9,428 | 267 | 33 | 180 | 1,444 | Wepwawet- Seattle, WA
Kasim was surprised by the sudden voice that came out from one of the doors, asking anyone on the floor to join them. From the muffled sound of the voice it sounded feminine, best description being near angelic. Why would he think that? He shook the thought from his head and walked forward cautiously, picking up a piece of pipe that was on the ground. Oddly enough picking up the pipe felt strangely familiar.
Slowly he walked forward reaching the door and gently opening it, looking around inside, surprised to see the room seem mostly intact compared to the few other rooms he had all ready gone through. He kept his guard up looking around, looking for the source of the voice that had graced his ears moments before. It somewhat startled him when he did come across the person who had spoke and then realized how foolish he was brandishing a weapon when she didn't seem like a threat.
"Forgive me, I well... Can't be to careful with who you find," he said putting the pipe in the bag on his back. He couldn't help to note her attractiveness and the curious gem around her neck. Once again he forced his mind to concentrate, she might of not been a threat but there still could be danger.
"So you alone here?" he asked afterwards.
Lyssa/Mania- Chicago, IL
When Yasmine had motioned to her 'friends' she hid back a smile and a laugh. Her mind though quickly returned to her current task now that she had befriended Yasmine."Yes the cat. So it's yours? That's cool but yeah lets find it," she quickly said again all ready running past Yasmine in attempt to hopefully catch a glimpse of the feline creature.
"Well those friend's deserved what they got, it was self defense," she said behind her ",They planned to do much worse things to little me." Her eyes scanned around still disappointed in not finding her target.
"Awe it can't be gone, I just wanted to pet it," she said disappointed like a child who had lost a new toy. Her disappointment didn't last long though as she switch moods back to her normal overly zany self. | God Name: Thor
Mortal Name: Tormun Askan
Origin/God of: Norse-God of thunder, lightning, storms, strength and war
Appearance: Looks to be in the late twenties. 6'4" tall with a muscular physique he seems to giant over others around him. He has shaggy blond hair. The skin on his face, and rest of his body, is pale white and his eyes are an ice blue. His face also has a broken nose, a small scar on his right cheek and an always smiling mouth. His arms are well muscled and extremely strong. His large barrel chest is toned and two tattoo adorn it. One is of two hammers crossed, with the words 'Strength and Honour' written over the top, and is over his heart. The other is on his back and shows the face of two goats, their horns interlocked. He woke up wearing black jeans, t-shirt and a bright red zip-up hoody that flaps around in the slightest wind.
Personality: Loud and boisterous he can never back down from a challenge. While he may be loud he does love to spend time by himself. Quick to anger but just as quick to calm down his anger normally only lasts a few seconds or until the fight is over.
Weapon(s) : Hammer called Mjollnir (can change size), gloves called Megingjard (improves his strength)
Relationships/friendships:
Other: Is an alcoholic.
God Name: Xuan Wu
Mortal Name: Xavier Windsor
Origin/God of: Chinese-God of martial arts and war. He can't be defeated due to his strategic mind and his fighting prowess. Knows all types of fighting styles and is normally a master of all.
Apperance: Looks to be around young twenties. At 5'6" he is of slightly smaller than average height and is skinny. His lack of muscles makes him extremely fast and agile which comes in useful when fighting. He has black eyes, long black hair that is usually tied in a ponytail but comes loose often, and a small scar over his lip. His chest and arms are tattoed, His chest is covered in tattoos of weapons while his arms are tattooed with an image of a snake and a turtle. He woke up wearing black jeans, t-shirt and hood.
Personality: Quiet and driven he normally hangs at the back of any group and observe. Hard to anger but once angered he takes time to calm down.
Weapon(s): Black Wudang sword, his martial art skills and his chi.
Relationships/friendships:
Other: Doesn't get jokes very well. His snake tattoo will be able to come to life and help him in fights; spitting poison, biting enemies, crushing enemies. His sword changes to any weapon he has fought with before. |
9,429 | 267 | 34 | 78 | 8,915 | A light blush dusted across Lily's cheeks at Jayden's compliment even if it was a subtle one and smiled softly. She had honestly been too busy running and being completely confused to actually think of the situation that way but she couldn't say he was wrong. This whole place was like being dropped into a bad Post-Apocalyptic movie but it did have its own kind of charm of it she guessed. She had only a second to be curious as to why he had suddenly whistled that is until a hound had join them, the beast obviously being dragged from a fresh meal if the beasts painted muzzle was anyway to go by.
Lily's fingers twitched, wishing to run her fingers through "Humphry's" fur and to show the animal much affection but she wasn't sure if the dog would be welcomed to it or if its master would approve. She didn't know why but she felt she should have a dog by her side or maybe more than one. She didn't kind if it was fantasy or a memory but she could hear the sounds of loud barking, the feeling of soft fur on her fingertips, and a black gate quickly flashed in her mind. It was Set's voice that brought her out of her thoughts as she shook her head lightly, "If I had one than I have no memory of it. I am not sure if I had some kind of accident but I don't seem to have much memories at all. I barely seem to have any personal information other than my name, where I am and some other vague thoughts." she replied with a frown, not liking the feeling of something missing and not liking that she admitting she didn't know much to a completely stranger but for some reason she felt she could trust him. | God Name: Persephone, Kore, Persephonia, Phersephone, Persephassa, Phersephatta, Persephone Soteira and Persephone Despoena, Proserpine, Proserpina.
Mortal Name: Lily
Origin/God of: Greek- Goddess of Springtime/ Queen of the UnderWorld/ Rebirth and Death
God history:
You bring the light clasped round you, and although
I knew you’d bring it, knew it as I waited,
Knew as you’d come that you’d come cloaked in light
I had forgotten what light meant, and so
This longed for moment, so anticipated,
I stand still, dazzled by my own delight.
I see you, and you see me, and we smile
And your smile says you are as pleased as me
With everything and nothing still to say
All that we’ve saved and thought through all this time
Boils down to affirmation now as we
Stand here enlightened in my realm of grey.
Cerberus wags his solitary tail,
And though the dust of Hell lies round our feet
Your flowers are already sprouting through.
“You came,” “I said I would,” “You didn’t fail,”
“And you’re still here,” “Of course. We said we’d meet.”
“Yes,” “Yes!” “You’re really here! “And so are you!”
We don’t say yet that you will have to go
And Hell return inevitably black
Your flowers fade when parted from your tread
Though this is something we both surely know,
As certain as you come, you must go back,
And I remain alone among the dead.
They say I snatched you from the world above
Bound you with pomegranates, cast a spell
Bribed you with architecture. It’s not so.
Friendship is complicated, life is, love,
Your work the growing world, my task is Hell
You come back always, always have to go.
But here and now, this moment, we can smile,
Speak and be heard, this moment we can share
And laugh, and help each other to be great,
And talk aloud together, all worthwhile,
Our work, our worlds, and all we really care,
Each word shines golden, each thought worth the wait.
And Hell’s poor souls whirl round us as they glide
Off up to Lethe to begin again,
On to new lives, new dawns beyond Hell’s night.
We walk among your flowers, side by side,
Such joys we share are worth a little pain.
You come back. And you always bring the light.
Personality: Persephone's personality is very dual like her roll in Olympia, on one hand she is compassionate, wise and even trusting to the point that it boarders on the innocently naive sometimes but she is also not one to be trifled with and has no problem putting people in their place should they call upon her rage. She can be just as jealous or stubborn as any other Olympian God or Goddess and much more clever than going about it straight on. She does what she believes is right and follows her heart and instincts on all matters. She can see into people better than they can see into themselves. It is hard for her too think of putting herself first as she is always ready to help another before helping herself.
Weapon(s)/Important Symbol : Golden Sword/Pomegranate
Relationships/friendships: To Be Determined
Other:
You Will Find Out In Due Time
SIDE NOTE: I may add in the Goddess Nyx but we will see so for now I am still reserving it. |
9,430 | 267 | 35 | 1,802 | 272 | It can't be gone. Yasmine spun around on her heel and took off after Scorn, easily catching up behind the skull-faced woman. "Maybe it's close by?"
She searched for her former companion amongst the ruins, a twinge of sadness hitting her as she took in the broken remains of the fallen city. There was nothing but destruction and chaos -- two of her least favorite things. "Hey, Scorn?" Yasmine ran faster to match pace with her new...acquaintance. "Do you know what happened here? Why everything's all...all..." She frowned as searched for a proper word. "Well, all gone to hell?"
A flash of brown against gray caught her eye, momentarily distracting her. There, crouched amongs the abandoned skeleton of a store, was the cat. It's amber eyes glimmered with what seemed like amusement before it turned tail and scampered away. It weaved through the concrete, headed for what looked like a couple of figures in the distance. Yasmine sharply changed directions. "Hey! This way!" | God Name: Bast/Bastet
Mortal Name: Yasmine
Origin: Egypt -- Cat Goddess of Music, Dance, and Fertility; Protector of the Household and Pregnant Women
Appearance:
God History: History
Personality: Independant and laid-back, Bast's nature is very similar to that of a cat's. She refuses to take commands, preferring to do things as she pleased and go at her own pace. However, she is far from lazy. In battle, Bast is as fierce as a lion. She's extremely protective of those she cares about, and will mercilessly take down anything that dares to hurt them.
Being a goddess of fertility and protector of pregnant women, Bast holds deep affection towards children. She'll often act like a mother towards those younger than her, and holds a patience towards those in pregnancy.
Bast is, to say the least, a sensual goddess. She's very playful, and will often flirt with everyone. Gods, goddesses, mortals -- she's never too shy about her various advancements.
Weapon:
Sistrum -- When played, this rattle-like instrument can lure in or summon felines, such as cats and even a lion, if Bast grows powerful enough. Further down the line, Bast can gain the ability to even transform into a feline form if the Sistrum is played and dance to.
Relationship/friendship: N/A
Other:
- Inhumanly agile and flexible
- Can heal mild illnesses and diseases
- Can lure or summon a feline companion
- Can later on gain the ability to change and alter her form to that of a cat or lion
- Likes cats. A lot. Like seriously, she's a fur filled house away from being a crazy cat lady. |
9,431 | 267 | 36 | 1,154 | 1,925 | Atlas
((Gonna make Eli continuing walking, as if nothing ever happened))
After the mechanic shop, Eli didn't take any unnecessary risks. He hid whenever he heard a gunshot. He took another block because he saw a recently used campfire inside the nearest building. Any road that looked recently walked through he didn't go down. He was so angry about being tricked that he didn't want to let his anger get the best of him, and he certainly didn't want to die when he had absolutely no idea who the hell he was.
And just when he let his guard down to talk to a man with what seemed to be a calf, it turned out to be much more dangerous than a bunch of raiders. The man gave a smile and laugh, one that didn't sound to be full of happiness... It was much more sinister. "Oh no, He's not dinner tonight for anyone... In fact, you might be good for dinner. He is quite hungry." The man said casually, leaving Eli's instincts to go crazy.
"I...I'm sorry...?" Eli's hand slowly went for his sword. "Oh yes... you're one of them.. The gray streaks in your hair... Your strength. Those eyes. Yes only one could have eyes that severely haunted. You will do nicely for a sacrifice. Can't have you achieving your plan."
As the man talked, Eli tried very hard to concentrate. What was he talking about? It was as if he knew him, as if he was someone he met before and thought it was funny that he was lost here. Eli didn't find it funny at all. "What... What are you talking about?" Eli tried to demand, his head starting to hurt, his heartbeat getting faster.
"Do you really want to know? I'm sure you would enjoy your present self than reliving the agony you call your past. Yes, you are definitely an older being. She loves the taste of Titans."
Eli's head screamed with pain, he almost fell to his knees, but he managed to stay up. He drew his sword, which made the man laugh amusingly and the calf to give a demonic growl. "You want to play before we eat? We love a dinner and a show." The man laughed, this time in a much more sinister voice, and in a second the ground started to shake. A black mass took over the man and animal, Eli stumbled back staring in horror as the two changed form.
The man turned taller, greener, a set of scales moved over his skin, and his eyes turned a neon yellow. His mouth turned into a snout, his hands and feet turned into claws, and a tail sprouted out of him... He was a crocodile hybrid, standing on two legs, and his large muscular arms looking intimidating. The calf's body turned in to a taller, more muscular lion one, its head turned from a calf to a woman's, wings sprouting out of its back, and at the end of its tail was a serpent's head.
He had no idea what the crocodile man was, but he knew immediately what the calf turned in to. "A Sphinx..." Eli muttered. his head throbbing with explanation. He was angry that he knew, but didn't at the same time, as if he should have the answers but none came up! He held out his sword, ignoring the pain of his head.
His attention turned to a woman screaming in the alley. Looking over he saw that she was pointing towards them... No, not them, but the cat in front of them. He turned his attention back to the enemies just in time to swipe his sword, deflecting a large crocodile claw in mid air. The beast hissed. "No matter... More food comes, they smell like you too..."
Eli had no idea what he was talking about, but he didn't want to hear anymore of this. | God Name: Atlas
Mortal Name: Eli Greene
Origin/God of: Greek. Titan Lord of Astronomy and Navigation. Bearer of the Heavens
Apperance: Eli is 6'2", with a very large muscular build. He has short light brown hair, with a darker trimmed beard, and a scar right above his right eye, separating his brow. His skin is a deep tan, and there are numerous scars all over his body, especially on his arms and top of his back. He wears a warm and worn travel jacket, with a dark shirt underneath. His jeans are faded, and he wears a pair of old boots. The most noticeable feature about him though are his eyes. They look like they are made of gold, being so light brown. They also show an immense amount of suffering and pain. As if he experienced something no one has ever felt before.
God history: Atlas is the son of Iapetus (the God of Mortality) and Clymene (Goddess of infamy, fame, and the renown). He is also the brother of Prometheus. He was a leader in the Titan War against the Greek Gods, and ultimately lost. His punishment was to stand on the west side of the Earth, and hold up the sky and heavens.
Personality: Atlas is on a road of redemption. He has a heavy heart, and tries his best to differ right from wrong. He is incredibly strong willed, and hard to sway when he has made up his mind. He has a sense of responsibility to help as many as he can, even in this horrible new world they are all now in.
Weapon(s): He has an old sword that he used in the Titan war long ago, but it isn't special.
Relationships/friendships: None yet
Other: "Tell me, Atlas, which is heavier? The world, or its people's hearts?" |
9,432 | 267 | 37 | 1,918 | 8,265 | Set
"Hmmm, interesting I myself also seem to have little knowledge of anything beyond my awakening a little while ago. However, I find myself able to do something rather interesting. Observe . . ." Set waved his hand out in front of him, and from tiny rivulets of sand flowed of his skin, flowing into the air and coalescing into a small sphere that seemed to be the size of a baseball. He had it hover in the air for a moment, then had it recede back into his skin, letting out a slight gasp as a wave of exhaustion hit him. Looks looks like trying to be fancy with this power isn't a smart decision right now, if something like that tires me out this much. I wonder if I'll be able to increase my power sometime soon
Shaking off the thought with a shrug, Set turned his attention back to Lily, putting his hands in his jacket pockets while Humporhy knelt by his side, waiting patiently.
"Pretty cool, huh? Now then, mind choosing a direction for us to walk in? I've no idea why we here. but I'm getting bored of doing nothing, but I feel like it's only fair to have you lead usto our next destination. Ladies first and all that, and consider it my apology for threatening your silence. While it might've been necessary, it was still rather rude of me, wouldn't you agree?"
Quetzal
Quetzal was somewhat stunned by the woman's actions, gulping down some air as she spoke., For some reason, he felt like he was in more danger with her than he was with those brigands outside, though not in the same way. Everything about her was predatory, yet seductive, as if every movement was one meant to draw the eye and proclaim power. The most prominent statement of this was the necklace around her neck, which he found impossible to keep his eyes off of for long. Something about the way it got the light, how it seemed to pulsate as if it had a life of it's own, it awoke something in him, and he wasn't sure how he felt about it. Once he made his way past her into the room, a slight shiver making it's way through his form as their bodies brushed by each other, he had to take a slow breath to calm himself, followed by a draught of water. The feeling of the life-giving liquid flowing down his throat was very refreshing.
He took a seat on a chair not to far away from the door, out of sight from whoever the woman was addressing, but close enough in case they tried to pull anything. When the new revealed himself, wondering if the woman was alone, Quetzal spoke in a welcoming tone, not wanting him to feel unwelcome if he was hear on benevolent terms.
"Not particularly, though I'm as nearly as much a stranger to her as you are to us. I'm a beneficiary of this woman's kindness, and am thus indebted to her because of it. And while I'm sorry to ask this, what are your intentions in coming here, dear sir? I want to believe you have no ill intentions, but I have a feeling that such a sentiment can't be ultimately abided by in our present surroundings." Quetzal gave a slight sigh, another wave of depression hitting him as he thought of the state of the world today, and what hue had seen of humanity so far. It had onl been one moment and a single group, but when combined with the surroundings he found himself in, it spoke volumes. | CS:
God Name:Set
Mortal Name: Jayden
Origin/God of: Egyptian God of Deserts, Storms, Chaos, Foreigners, and War.
Apperance:
God history: can be a link, or you can use your knowledge! haha
Personality:Jayden/Set is a bit reckless and wild, overcome with a desire to live free and by his own rules. He always tries to be the head of the pack, and doesn't take kindly to having that position challenged. When it comes to fighting, you'll never find him seem more alive, as bloodshed just brings a smile to his face that begets a disturbing serenity in the chaos that is him. He also a quick wit and some what sarcastic, quick to make a joke at another expense the moment he sees the opportunity.
However, despite these qualities, Set isn't that bad of a guy. While he shouldn't be trusted in most situations, he knows his duty and will always seek to fulfil it. He can be very protective over those he cares for or feels duty bound to help, and any who seek to harm those under his protection will have the sands turned red with thèir blood for their transgressions.
Weapons:A Khopesh and his Signature beast, the Set Animal
Relationships/friendships: Anubis=It's complicated
Other:As a god of the Desert, he brings it everywhere he goes, able to turn any inorganic material into Sand with but a touch and enough focus. This and all sand is at his beck and call, able to bend to his will if enough focus is put into it. At the start, he can't control much more than a mound half his size and it takes some concentration to move it, though not as much as it takes to create sand. Once created, however, it will always follow him, melding with his skin until it's time to be called forth once again.
Aside from that, he's also a natural skilled fighter, able to use any weapon placed on his hands with much skill, though he holds a preference for melee combat. Along with this is his animal companion, The Set Animal, who takes the form of a large fog when it's not in battle. When ever it's master is in trouble, however, he can transform into a somewhat larger beast with a head similar to a jackal with long ears and a mouth full of teeth. The Set animal is a dangerous beast, having increases stength, speed, and durability when compared to other animals, and having all the ferocity of a Sandstorm as well, making it a for e to be reckoned with.
((Appearances and History to come later))
CS:
God Name:Quetzalcoatl
Mortal Name: Damian
Origin/God of: Aztec God of the West Wind, the Morning Star/The Dawn, Justice , Priesthood, Learning, and the Arts
Apperance:Damian is a tall, if skinny man at around 6'2, with a somewhat muscular frame. His skin is a dark tan color and his face is rather handsome in it's own way. His eyes are a deep jade green, the pupils being only slightly elongated in comparison to the normal human eye, his hair was coarse as it swept it's way across it's head in a vibrant array of colors, mostly a mix of reds, blues, and dark greens, though a few others were in there as well. His teeth are mostly normal except for his canines, which are thinner than normal and rather sharp at the point, like pseudo-fangs.
Also, across his torso and upper arms are a number of scale-like tattoos.
God history: can be a link, or you can use your knowledge! haha
Personality:Damian/Quetzalcoatl is a very intellectual individual, always eager to learn as much as he can, and teach others what he's discovered. He's a very cheerful, upbeat guy who keeps a shroud of optimism even in these dark times. He always is on the look out for something beautiful to capture it's image in a painting or drawing of somekind.
Damian/Queztalcoatl abhors needless violence, finding such acts appalling and those who commit them to be disdainful and savage. That being said, if it's in the defense of someone else, he'll fight to the bitter end until righteousness prevails, or he dies trying to preserve it.
Weapon(s) :He has no weapons truly, but he does posses a Aztec Wind Jewel(a conch shell that's been cut in half to show a spiral design) which helps him focus his powers and he can listen to see if he can learn any bits of knowledge caught by the west wind.
Relationships/friendships: Can be progressed through the RP, mostly made for which characters you have a connection with
Other:
He's able to manipulate the wind and air to his whims, currently all he can do is push people around with sudden gusts, but if he focuses on his gem he can channel those gusts in to blades and drills, though it's more tiring. He can also take strength from the stars, either to make him momentarily shine brightly like a human-sized flash bang, or use it to form weaponry out of starlight, though this is his most draining ability and can only be done for a short time before he falls unconscious, at the moment, anyway.
He can also communicate with birds and reptiles to an extent, though translating the knowledge he gains to others is difficult due to the differences in how the creatures process information. Any of his offense powers are more effective against forces of evil than other things, as their essence is being exercised by the power of his inner light. |
9,433 | 267 | 38 | 511 | 3,294 | ---
A graveyard. A place of rest for the deceased. They were generally ... solemn, quiet environments, where those who had known the dead in life could mourn and pay their respects. Yet she knew of nobody, no person, who had passed on from the mortal coil to purgatory, to be renewed and restored to once more be part of the cycle of reincarnation. So why had she been drawn here? Why had she chosen to walk amongst the dead, amongst the coldest silence of this drab, dull world that she had emerged into? What was she seeking to find?
Three men, encircled by fresh corpses?
Her eyes, deep brown, hardened in caution. What had brought such a disturbance to a place of rest? Who were they? What was their purpose here, together, where the dead should be six feet under, not lying upon the cold, harsh soil? She could feel the blood begin to pump through her veins, the tensing of her muscles in preparation for danger. Was ... why was this so? Had she been a warrior in the past? No, why would a warrior be in the garb of a businesswoman?
Yet ...
She would still be cautious.
"Am I interrupting anything?" she asked, composed, dignified. Just as Feng Jidian should be. | God Name: 女媧 Nüwa/Nügua/Nükua
Mortal Name: 風簡易 Feng Jiandi
Origin: Ancient Chinese Creator Goddess
Appearance: A tall and graceful figure even in her mortal form, the goddess known as Nüwa has incarnated into the realm of humans as an imposing woman of clear Han ethnicity, athletic in her build and standing at a height of around one point nine metres. She possesses regal features, with defined cheekbones and a beautiful face framed by her jet-black hair, which has been tied back into a bun. This sense of dignity is echoed in the manner in which she carries herself as well, from her confident posture to her professional garb. And indeed, her divine state simply magnifies her aura of kingship, with flowing, silvery-grey locks almost like the skin of a snake, and glowing emerald eyes that are clearly inhuman and dangerous, yet awe-inspiring. The ethereal nature of her godliness however, leaves much of her presence to be quite difficult to comprehend, but it is clear from her magnificent fan, royal robes and phoenix crown wreathed in the leathery body of snakes that she is a ruler of humanity.
History:
淮南子 Huainanzi - Going back to more ancient times, the four pillars were broken; the nine provinces were in tatters. Heaven did not completely cover ; Earth did not hold up all the way around . Fires blazed out of control and could not be extinguished; water flooded in great expanses and would not recede. Ferocious animals ate blameless people; predatory birds snatched the elderly and the weak. Thereupon, Nüwa smelted together five-colored stones in order to patch up the azure sky, cut off the legs of the great turtle to set them up as the four pillars, killed the black dragon to provide relief for Ji Province, and piled up reeds and cinders to stop the surging waters. The azure sky was patched; the four pillars were set up; the surging waters were drained; the province of Ji was tranquil; crafty vermin died off; blameless people lives.
風俗通義 - Fengsu Tongyi - People say that when Heaven and earth opened and unfolded, humankind did not yet exist, Nü Kua kneaded yellow earth and fashioned human beings. Though she worked feverishly, she did not have enough strength to finish her task, so she drew her cord in a furrow through the mud and lifted it out to make human beings. That is why rich aristocrats are the human beings made from yellow earth, while ordinary poor commoners are the human beings made from the cord's furrow.
封神演義 - Fengshen Yanyi - While King Zhou of Shang, the final ruler of his dynasty, was paying his respects to Nüwa at her temple, he became utterly smitten with her beauty, and wrote a poem on the wall that sought her hand. Upon viewing it, the goddess was sent spiralling into a rage, and she vowed to murder the shit out of him for daring to speak dirty to her through shitty poetry, as well as cursing the Shang dynasty to fall. She personally ascended the steps to Zhou's palace to rip his intestines out, but then the Yellow Emperor up in Heaven was all: "woah calm down" and shot two gigantic red lasers at her. Then she realised that unfortunately, Zhou still had twenty-six years left in his fuel tank, and so called three of her subordinates down to fuck with Zhou.
"The luck Cheng Tang won six hundred years ago is dimming. I speak to you of a new mandate of heaven which sets the destiny for all. You three are to enter King Zhou's palace, where you are to bewitch him. Whatever you do, do not harm anyone else. If you do my bidding, and do it well, you will be permitted to reincarnate as human beings."
And so doomed the Shang.
Personality: A suave and composed woman at first glance, the dignified figure that Nüwa cuts is incredibly confident in her own self and ability, possessing a sense of pride in her very being that could be easily interpreted as arrogance. Yet it is a pride that is entirely deserved, for she performs all duties that are required of her with finesse and skill, working with great vigour to ensure that perfection is kept. As such, she rarely suffers fools, and can be quite condescending to those who doubt her strength and wisdom. This cool-headed efficiency however, sometimes disappears if her pride has been slighted, and her responses can be quite disproportionate to those who have offended her sensibilities. Anger comes easily, fuelled by bottled-up frustrations at her need to constantly fix everything, and her actions in this regard, whether it be dry, venomous wit or a propensity for violence, do well to portray this rage of hers.
Weapon(s):
Coloured Stones of the Five Phases - the essence stones that she utilised to repair Heaven and Earth provide her the ability to manipulate the five phases of fire, water, earth, wood and metal to her own bidding.
Giant Fan
Snakes
Jian
Relationships:
Other: She speaks with a distinctive Luoyang-based Henan dialect. |
9,434 | 267 | 39 | 1,188 | 1,184 | I'm Ha- Des, his mind finished, though he didn't speak it himself. He still didn't know what that name meant, and it filled him with dread. Why share a fearful secret with a complete stranger, even if he was someone that Hal felt he knew from somewhere else? True, the bearded face and fishing harpoon were accompanied with small sparks of familiarity-but like a feeling of Deja Vu you just can't shake, Hal had no idea where those sparks came from. So he picked the easier question to answer, even if the response itself was more complicated.
"No, I don't know him." That, at least, was the truth. Even if Hal was actually Hal Desmond, he still didn't know himself: the massive gap where his memories should be made sure of that. "At least... I don't think I do. But I woke up in his grave, so... I suppose that's a really roundabout way of saying... You can call me Hal Desmond. Nice to meet you, Ben..."
Osiris. The name held little meaning for Hal, to be true, but some feeling of dread did come from it... And it obviously meant a lot to the German shepherd's owner. When the boy knelt, Hal squatted slightly, looking into Abel's face, searching it for any touch of familiarity, anything that he could recognize. He sighed and shook his head, holding out his hand for Abel to use as support to stand up again. "I'm afraid I'm going to disappoint you, Abel. I don't remember myself, nor you. I'm sorry... Maybe we can find some answers someplace."
And a woman now approached. Hal shook his head, his hand still outstretched to Abel. "No... What's happened has happened. You aren't interrupting anything unless you plan to either avenge them or hurt us for purely selfish reasons... Either one will lead to more bloodshed, and I've personally had enough for today."
Us. Interesting. Two total strangers and they were counted as "us". Ben just seemed to be somehow trustworthy, as if Hal had known him for far longer... And there was something in Abel's attitude that inspired some kind of kinship with him, though what it was Hal couldn't tell for the life.. errrrr, death of him. | God Name: Nezha
Mortal Name: Ning Liánhuā
Origin: Chinese, Third Lotus Prince and Protector of Drivers
God History: en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nezha_(deity)
Personality: As a child deity, Nezha was born with laughter in his eyes, living a youthful and carefree life. But he was was also headstrong with near unmovable opinion, while his strong sense of right and wrong pitted him against evil and powerful foes. As a human, Li is an orphan that makes his living by working in a flowershop, while displaying a rare form of kindness in our day, from feeding strays to giving half his lunch money to the homeless.
Weapon: Armillary Sash: Having the initial form of a simple red scarf, this enchanted sash can reach near limitless lengths and can be used both as a trapping device as well as a weapon.
Flaming Spear: Creation and manipulation of heat and fire.
Wind Fire Wheels: Nezha's most recognizable and favored tool, these take the form of two mundane rollerblades.
Relationship/friendship: Being rivals in the past, Nezha now shares a close friendship with the Monkey King, Sun Wukong.
Other: Knows a variety of martial arts and has excellent herbal knowledge. |
9,435 | 267 | 40 | 388 | 334 | Sophia
"If you can't lay them, slay them."
Current Attire
Necklace
Here
Location
Seattle - Fifth Floor of an Apartment Building
OCC:
None for now
Sophia was deeply disappointed when the man appeared for she did not recognize him. He wasn't whom she expected to see, her hopes still high to find the gentleman who had shared her bed this morning for he most likely held the answers to her many inquires. Azure lanterns gazed with interest as she observed the physicality of her new guest. He was handsome, and his awkward smile as he stuttered a response was quite attractive in an amusing way. He obviously lacked any awareness when he pondered if she was alone, which was strange considering he cautioned her a warning, yet her first guest was seated just behind him. Perhaps he was distracted and didn't notice the other gentleman, but distracted by what? She wasn't that captivating....
Her necklace glowed from the reflection of the fire that was raging within her fireplace., providing a comforting warmth from the bitter cold outside. She approached her new guest, locking eyes with him, but before she could speak, Damian began a welcoming speech. She smiled softly, her eyes never leaving the new man. "Not particularly, though I'm as nearly as much a stranger to her as you are to us. I'm a beneficiary of this woman's kindness, and am thus indebted to her because of it. And while I'm sorry to ask this, what are your intentions in coming here, dear sir? I want to believe you have no ill intentions, but I have a feeling that such a sentiment can't be ultimately abided by in our present surroundings." Sophia moved closer to the fireplace as Damian spoke and brushed a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear. Her voice was light-hearted as she spoke to the gentleman "Excuse my dear friend for not introducing ourselves but in a way, he is right to be cautious with how chaotic this world has become." She offered her delicate hand for the traditional greeting of a handshake. "My name is...Sophia and the gentleman who just spoke is Damian. We mean no harm, and I can offer some refuge for awhile if you would like. But make no mistake..." Her eyes narrowed slightly before she completed the sentence. "if you attempt to harm either one of us in any way, we won't hesitate to end you." And you shall not be allowed entrance into Valhalla. Wait what? Where did that come from? Her head pulsed with pain at that thought.
As if on cue, her two cats appeared from her bedroom and sat, one on either side of her. As if they were protecting her. For some reason, this comforted her. Sophia turned her gaze to roaring fire, then towards Damian. Although she considered him a stranger, she trusted him. She assumed he would assist her in detaining this intruder if he attempted any action that wasn't cordial. | God Name: Freya
or Freija, Frejya, Freyia, Fröja, Frøya, Frøjya, Freia, Freja, Frua and Freiya.
Mortal Name: Sophia
Origin/God of: Norse - Lady/Goddess associated with love, sexuality, beauty, fertility, gold, seiðr, war, and death
Apperance: A strawberry blonde with stunning blue eyes and a bodacious curvy bodice.
God history: Click Here or Here and Here
Personality: Freya is famous for her fondness of love, fertility, beauty, and fine material possessions – and, because of these predilections, she’s considered to be a “party girl”. She’s certainly a passionate seeker after pleasures and thrills of all kinds. Therefore, she is extremely outgoing and charismatic and knows how to throw a party. She is also a very sweet and generous woman in all aspects, whether it be sharing her spectacular body with sensual love, or her Seidr abilities. More on that in the Other category.
Her sensual side consists of her abundant appreciation for high-class materials, all kinds of music(especially the romantic kind), and floral arrangements. She wears modern day formal gowns that exhibit her amazing body only because walking around naked is not socially acceptable.
She loves cats, and owns two of them. Eventually with the development of her powers, these particular cats will be able to shape shift into modern day warrior cats, with a blue hue to pull her fabled chariot over a battlefield full of slain warriors. Concerning her warrior Valkyrie side, she is the goddess of war and death as well making her extremely strong-willed and opinionated.
Her social status is highly ambiguous – she is and will be by turns exalted, feared, longed for, propitiated, celebrated, and scorned throughout her adventures of this roleplay.
Weapon(s): Brisling/Brísingamen - a magical necklace reputedly made of amber and rubies which makes her irresistible to men
Relationships/friendships: None as of now but if any Norse gods/goddesses join up, we are automatically going to hit it off.
Other: Freya possesses falcon plumes that allow their bearer to shift her shape into that of a falcon. Warning this picture contains nudity. That being said, if Freya could walk around naked all the time and be socially accepted, she would.
Freya is the archetype of the völva, a professional practitioner of seidr, the most organized form of Norse magic. It was she who first brought this art to the gods, and, by extension, to humans as well. Given her expertise in controlling and manipulating the desires, health, and prosperity of others, she’s a being whose knowledge and power are almost without equal. |
9,436 | 267 | 41 | 1,154 | 1,925 | Poseidon
As the man near the grave began to talk, Ben's sea green eyes looked at the tombstone, then back at the man's face... His voice sounded cold, but not hostile, or cruel. It was as if it was wounded in the past, or neglected... And there was a small sense of guilt inside him in the back of his mind. When he said his name, Ben simply gave a smile, and nod towards him. Abel was less formal with Hal. Ben stepped back at the sudden reaction from the man, eyeing the two curiously. The name Osiris meant not much to him, but he knew that Hal was not him. His mind told him that he wasn't a man to normally fill something with life, and yet another part of him said that there was much he didn't know (or remember) about Hal. A small smile appeared on Ben's face when he said "we could find answers." It was rather odd to find complete strangers after seeing them kill, and yet have some sort of trust with them. More specifically Hal.
Another voice moved in. Ben turned quickly, his hand going to his fishing harpoon as he examined the figure. Hal spoke up first, but he kept his eyes on the woman. If he hadn't been attacked by countless men and women and awoken with no memory, the very sight of her would have intimidated him. Her stance was strong, her face detailed in someone with power. Her suit matched that well, but it felt out of place in this city. A curious thought ran through his mind. The only people that didn't seem to want to kill people seemed to have no recollection of this place...
"She doesn't look much like she wants to fight, Lord." Ben said in a mocking tone, but turning to face Hal with a small grin. It was a teasing tone, as if he was pressing his buttons for the fun of it. Doing that to a complete stranger would have been considered rude, especially to a man who collects dark screaming energy from corpses... But he had a feeling Hal wouldn't take it as a threat.
"Tell me, Do you know your name? Who you are? Where you're from?"
There was no time to hear a response. A couple blocks away in the nearly destroyed city, a large and thunderous BOOM echoed through the buildings, leaving the four of them dead quiet. Ben turned to face the direction it came from, and felt a sense of dread. He turned to Hal, and then the others. "Those weren't raiders. We need to hide. Now."
He, Abel and Hal just finished from a battle, and although none of them will admit it, they were tired. The group of them made their way out of the makeshift graves, climbing over or walking around cars as they looked for a safe spot to take cover from the demonic howling and thundering explosions coming closer. "There." Ben pointed at what looked like an abandoned apartment complex, with the doors broken open. Not the most welcoming thing, but it beat being out in the open.
They all ran in, hiding next to the walls, all near a window so they could inspect the scene... They waited for what seemed like forever, until a thundering, inhuman voice shook the ground. "WHERE ARE YOU?!"
Ben very slowly peered around the corner to look out the window, and as he did his vision tunneled. The makeshift grave had a new visitor. He easily stood past 12 feet. His arms were the size of tree trunks. From the neck down he looked like a normal human being if he grew super sized... He carried a large axe, glowing in the sun, but the most noticeable feature was his head. Instead of a human head, a Bull's head was in its place. Large amounts of dark brown fur covered his neck and shoulders, his snout was breathing heavily, as if trying to smell, and his beady eyes were filled with rage.
"The smell of death lingers... He is here too? COME OUT, KING OF THE SEA!" The beast bellowed. "YOU CANNOT ESCAPE! YOUR GREEK BLOOD IS TOO STRONG TO HIDE!" The thing taunted. Ben grasped the side of the wall, his tan skin turned a small shade of green. The beast was so familiar to Ben, the way it said the King of the Sea and mentioning the Greek blood, Ben was certain he was talking directly at him, and he had a hunch on why. He wanted revenge.
"If you come out now, I will spare your brother, and maybe the others that are joined with you. I only want you... You made me this, don't you remember? Or are you still recovering?" The beast gave in a few more sniffs in the air, and started to stomp towards the direction of the apartment complex. Ben muttered something in what he could assume was another language, possible an ancient form of Greek? He wasn't sure, and he had no idea why that language burst out, but it meant one thing. They were in trouble. | God Name: Atlas
Mortal Name: Eli Greene
Origin/God of: Greek. Titan Lord of Astronomy and Navigation. Bearer of the Heavens
Apperance: Eli is 6'2", with a very large muscular build. He has short light brown hair, with a darker trimmed beard, and a scar right above his right eye, separating his brow. His skin is a deep tan, and there are numerous scars all over his body, especially on his arms and top of his back. He wears a warm and worn travel jacket, with a dark shirt underneath. His jeans are faded, and he wears a pair of old boots. The most noticeable feature about him though are his eyes. They look like they are made of gold, being so light brown. They also show an immense amount of suffering and pain. As if he experienced something no one has ever felt before.
God history: Atlas is the son of Iapetus (the God of Mortality) and Clymene (Goddess of infamy, fame, and the renown). He is also the brother of Prometheus. He was a leader in the Titan War against the Greek Gods, and ultimately lost. His punishment was to stand on the west side of the Earth, and hold up the sky and heavens.
Personality: Atlas is on a road of redemption. He has a heavy heart, and tries his best to differ right from wrong. He is incredibly strong willed, and hard to sway when he has made up his mind. He has a sense of responsibility to help as many as he can, even in this horrible new world they are all now in.
Weapon(s): He has an old sword that he used in the Titan war long ago, but it isn't special.
Relationships/friendships: None yet
Other: "Tell me, Atlas, which is heavier? The world, or its people's hearts?" |
9,437 | 267 | 42 | 180 | 1,444 | Wepwawet- Seattle, WA
Kasim looked at the other person who was in the room looking to see if they would attack just like a rabid dog. Once feeling that that didn't seem to be the case he replied to the man's question."I merely was looking for what supplies were left around, didn't really expect to run into anyone here though what brought me to this place was a rather odd bright light. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that would you?"
The woman then spoke and he gave a slight bow in respect oddly. Why did he do that? No matter it didn't matter for the time, he could get answers to that question later."Well if you mean no harm then I mean no harm. My name is Kasim." He saw the two cats and gave a slight smile. The cats reminded him of someone, but who he couldn't say.
"First animals I've seen since awakening. Everything out there seems to be a ghost town," he added ",Besides the bodies it would seem man was nothing more then a myth." His mind wandered back to what happened to the world, to this once rich and mostly peaceful world to reduce it to nearly ruble and death.
Lyssa/Mania- Chicago, IL
"Oh so two more guests to add to the fun," Scorn said ecstatic to know there were more people. Though she knew she probably would have to keep her other wants down if they turned out to be not so nice people. The cat was momentarily forgotten as they got closer to the two newcomers but one seem to change and shift to something that shouldn't be part of the normal world yet was familiar. The name of the creature was on her tongue but she couldn't seem to grasp it. She gave a huff of annoyance at not knowing the name but then a grin plastered on her face. Since it wasn't human she could have some fun. There weren't any limits on non earthly creatures right?
"A new toy to play with lovely," she said ecstatically once in ear shot of the creature and new person ",Now I wonder what color it bleeds, hopefully anything but red, I need a lovely color palette if I ever want to finish my work." How serious the situation was seem to just go over her head and she skipped happily ready to pounce on the creature herself whenever she got an opening.
"We call dips on the other guy," Scorn said ",Seems fair three on one big ugly creature like that right?" | God Name: Thor
Mortal Name: Tormun Askan
Origin/God of: Norse-God of thunder, lightning, storms, strength and war
Appearance: Looks to be in the late twenties. 6'4" tall with a muscular physique he seems to giant over others around him. He has shaggy blond hair. The skin on his face, and rest of his body, is pale white and his eyes are an ice blue. His face also has a broken nose, a small scar on his right cheek and an always smiling mouth. His arms are well muscled and extremely strong. His large barrel chest is toned and two tattoo adorn it. One is of two hammers crossed, with the words 'Strength and Honour' written over the top, and is over his heart. The other is on his back and shows the face of two goats, their horns interlocked. He woke up wearing black jeans, t-shirt and a bright red zip-up hoody that flaps around in the slightest wind.
Personality: Loud and boisterous he can never back down from a challenge. While he may be loud he does love to spend time by himself. Quick to anger but just as quick to calm down his anger normally only lasts a few seconds or until the fight is over.
Weapon(s) : Hammer called Mjollnir (can change size), gloves called Megingjard (improves his strength)
Relationships/friendships:
Other: Is an alcoholic.
God Name: Xuan Wu
Mortal Name: Xavier Windsor
Origin/God of: Chinese-God of martial arts and war. He can't be defeated due to his strategic mind and his fighting prowess. Knows all types of fighting styles and is normally a master of all.
Apperance: Looks to be around young twenties. At 5'6" he is of slightly smaller than average height and is skinny. His lack of muscles makes him extremely fast and agile which comes in useful when fighting. He has black eyes, long black hair that is usually tied in a ponytail but comes loose often, and a small scar over his lip. His chest and arms are tattoed, His chest is covered in tattoos of weapons while his arms are tattooed with an image of a snake and a turtle. He woke up wearing black jeans, t-shirt and hood.
Personality: Quiet and driven he normally hangs at the back of any group and observe. Hard to anger but once angered he takes time to calm down.
Weapon(s): Black Wudang sword, his martial art skills and his chi.
Relationships/friendships:
Other: Doesn't get jokes very well. His snake tattoo will be able to come to life and help him in fights; spitting poison, biting enemies, crushing enemies. His sword changes to any weapon he has fought with before. |
9,438 | 267 | 43 | 78 | 8,915 | A light frown showed on her face as her brows furrowed in confusion at the fact that she was not the only one that had a blank in her memory upon awakening but she didn't have long to think on that matter as she looked curiously to the others hand. Her eyes widening a fraction in wonder at what she was seeing, the sand on his skin moved off and into a hovering swirl till it was in a sphere the size of a baseball. It only floated there a moment before it dissipated and slowly receded back to his skin but even that small feet was mind blowing to Lily. It did make her a bit curious if she had anything she could do because so far she hadn't noticed a thing but then again she hadn't been looking for it before.
"Cool? That was incredible!" her enthusiasm and joy clear written in her voice and even if it was clear, the bright smile would have been a dead give away to her happiness at the simple show. Lily in fact was so ecstatic about that, she hadn't even noticed the lush grass and wildflowers that were springing to life under her feet as if responding to her. "I do agree but you have been quite the gentleman since then so all has been forgiven long ago." she spoke before turning her head slightly to look in the direction she had been running before and pointed off in the distance. "I have no idea why but I feel like I need to go this way...like something is waiting or calling to me. Does that sound strange?"
It was as her joy calmed that the lush life that had spring up began to curl in on itself slowly dying off as she became more serious on where she wished to go next. | God Name: Persephone, Kore, Persephonia, Phersephone, Persephassa, Phersephatta, Persephone Soteira and Persephone Despoena, Proserpine, Proserpina.
Mortal Name: Lily
Origin/God of: Greek- Goddess of Springtime/ Queen of the UnderWorld/ Rebirth and Death
God history:
You bring the light clasped round you, and although
I knew you’d bring it, knew it as I waited,
Knew as you’d come that you’d come cloaked in light
I had forgotten what light meant, and so
This longed for moment, so anticipated,
I stand still, dazzled by my own delight.
I see you, and you see me, and we smile
And your smile says you are as pleased as me
With everything and nothing still to say
All that we’ve saved and thought through all this time
Boils down to affirmation now as we
Stand here enlightened in my realm of grey.
Cerberus wags his solitary tail,
And though the dust of Hell lies round our feet
Your flowers are already sprouting through.
“You came,” “I said I would,” “You didn’t fail,”
“And you’re still here,” “Of course. We said we’d meet.”
“Yes,” “Yes!” “You’re really here! “And so are you!”
We don’t say yet that you will have to go
And Hell return inevitably black
Your flowers fade when parted from your tread
Though this is something we both surely know,
As certain as you come, you must go back,
And I remain alone among the dead.
They say I snatched you from the world above
Bound you with pomegranates, cast a spell
Bribed you with architecture. It’s not so.
Friendship is complicated, life is, love,
Your work the growing world, my task is Hell
You come back always, always have to go.
But here and now, this moment, we can smile,
Speak and be heard, this moment we can share
And laugh, and help each other to be great,
And talk aloud together, all worthwhile,
Our work, our worlds, and all we really care,
Each word shines golden, each thought worth the wait.
And Hell’s poor souls whirl round us as they glide
Off up to Lethe to begin again,
On to new lives, new dawns beyond Hell’s night.
We walk among your flowers, side by side,
Such joys we share are worth a little pain.
You come back. And you always bring the light.
Personality: Persephone's personality is very dual like her roll in Olympia, on one hand she is compassionate, wise and even trusting to the point that it boarders on the innocently naive sometimes but she is also not one to be trifled with and has no problem putting people in their place should they call upon her rage. She can be just as jealous or stubborn as any other Olympian God or Goddess and much more clever than going about it straight on. She does what she believes is right and follows her heart and instincts on all matters. She can see into people better than they can see into themselves. It is hard for her too think of putting herself first as she is always ready to help another before helping herself.
Weapon(s)/Important Symbol : Golden Sword/Pomegranate
Relationships/friendships: To Be Determined
Other:
You Will Find Out In Due Time
SIDE NOTE: I may add in the Goddess Nyx but we will see so for now I am still reserving it. |
9,439 | 267 | 44 | 1,802 | 272 | Yeah...fair... Yasmine watched with a mix of horror and awe as one of the distant figures morphed into a--no, two horrible creatures. One she didn't know the name of struck at the man, and the other...
Yasmine gritted her teeth as the headache returned. A large monument, sand whipping across its smoothend back. The images were faded and brief, but somehow familiar. Creatures of Horus. Bringer of light. She blinked hard as the memories--if that what they really were--disappeared as suddenly as they came. Head of a man, the body of a lion. The Strangler. The Sphinx. She knew that name. Somehow, she knew it. It was accompanied with the feeling of warmth and sunlight. But the creature before her, twisted and evil, was a being of darkness. Nothing like the visions in her mind.
A poisonous snarl broke Yasmine out if her thoughts and back to the action. Clutch her sistrum, she bolted towards the beasts and their prey. The land blurred around her as she ran before she finally skidded to a halt beside the man. "Need some help?" Her tone was playful, but it barely concealed the seriousness beneath. Yasmine regarded the man with interest, her eyes scanning him like a predator. He wasn't that bad looking. Handsome even, in a rugged sort of way. Perhaps afterwards...Focus. Now is not the time for such thoughts.
Yasmine turned back to the monsters. Her body almost reflexively crouched into a fighting position. Determination replaced whatever fear she had, and anger pumped through her veins. What the hell were these things doing, picking on the helpless?! She glanced at the man's sword. The semi-helpless?! She grabbed a large rock with her free hand and searched for a weak point. It wasn't an ideal weapon, but it was better than nothing. She felt fur brush against her leg and heard a soft hiss as the cat joined her side. She was scared of course, but less so now that adrenaline rushed through her body. Now, she was ready for battle.
Taking a shaky breath, Yasmine aimed and threw the rock at the Sphinx. A brown blur soon followed it as the cat launched itself at the bigger of the two monsters. | God Name: Bast/Bastet
Mortal Name: Yasmine
Origin: Egypt -- Cat Goddess of Music, Dance, and Fertility; Protector of the Household and Pregnant Women
Appearance:
God History: History
Personality: Independant and laid-back, Bast's nature is very similar to that of a cat's. She refuses to take commands, preferring to do things as she pleased and go at her own pace. However, she is far from lazy. In battle, Bast is as fierce as a lion. She's extremely protective of those she cares about, and will mercilessly take down anything that dares to hurt them.
Being a goddess of fertility and protector of pregnant women, Bast holds deep affection towards children. She'll often act like a mother towards those younger than her, and holds a patience towards those in pregnancy.
Bast is, to say the least, a sensual goddess. She's very playful, and will often flirt with everyone. Gods, goddesses, mortals -- she's never too shy about her various advancements.
Weapon:
Sistrum -- When played, this rattle-like instrument can lure in or summon felines, such as cats and even a lion, if Bast grows powerful enough. Further down the line, Bast can gain the ability to even transform into a feline form if the Sistrum is played and dance to.
Relationship/friendship: N/A
Other:
- Inhumanly agile and flexible
- Can heal mild illnesses and diseases
- Can lure or summon a feline companion
- Can later on gain the ability to change and alter her form to that of a cat or lion
- Likes cats. A lot. Like seriously, she's a fur filled house away from being a crazy cat lady. |
9,440 | 267 | 45 | 1,154 | 1,925 | Atlas
Eli should have been overjoyed by the sight of people willing to help. He should have felt a bit more comfort tackling on these creatures now that it was three on two... But one of them had what looked like dried blood on her hands, a skull painted on her face, and the comments she made made him a bit uneasy... But the way she stood, and laughed at danger sparked yet another form of familiarity in his mind, but this one wasn't the same as seeing The Sphinx... The second woman appeared almost instantly, which caused Eli to glance over at her with his golden eyes. Her comment made a small laugh escape his throat, grasping his sword a bit harder. "Help would be much appreciated." Eli admitted. This woman didn't look as menacing as her friend. She had the frame of a gymnast, and the looks of an angel, but those thoughts soon left when he heard the growls of the beasts. A giant Crocodile man and a winged lion-man against three rather interesting people...What was the worst that could happen?
With a small nod towards the other two, and they charged to attack. The boulder hit the Sphinx, but the winged creature simply swiped away and gave a snarl. As the dark haired woman pounced at the crocodile man with blinding speed, the Sphinx followed after her. Eli ran and charged at the beast, and with very little thought in a plan he opened his arms to tackle it. The Sphinx was much larger, and seemed much stronger than Eli, but to his surprise both him and the winged creature fell sideways, away from his two allies.
The Sphinx was not happy. It did its best to try and claw at Eli, its serpent tail trying to snap at Eli's legs but he managed to kick it away. The figures tumbled hard on the road, and the Sphinx easily kicked Eli off, sending him to the air again. The golden eyed man fell hard on his stomach behind a car, and desperately trying to stand up. When he looked up he saw the Sphinx flying right towards him at a blinding speed.
Instincts kicked in. Eli managed to sidestep, twirling around in a full circle before bringing his sword down at the place where the Sphinx was. A screech louder than anything he's ever heard filled the air. On the floor a serpent's head twitched and hissed evilly, the Sphinx looked at the place where its tail once was, golden blood escaping from the wound.
Eli started to run back towards the crocodile man and the two allies, he had a feeling the Sphinx was right behind him. In a desperate (and stupid) effort, Eli dove in between the crocodile man's legs, skidding on the asphalt, and turning back to see what his situation was. The Sphinx crashed into the crocodile, both falling over and screaming in rage. Eli continued to back up until he could stand again, and by that time the crocodile had lifted a rusting car, and threw it at the three humans.
But Eli went forward, and brace himself, his hands out as if he could catch the item flying towards them... Confusion hit everyone, including the monsters, when Eli actually had successfully caught the car. The weight of his car made him skid backwards, still on his feet. His arms felt extremely weak, but he had a feeling he's lifted much worse. His golden eyes glared at the monsters, all his pain and anger went through him again, and in a mighty scream he threw the car right back at them. | God Name: Atlas
Mortal Name: Eli Greene
Origin/God of: Greek. Titan Lord of Astronomy and Navigation. Bearer of the Heavens
Apperance: Eli is 6'2", with a very large muscular build. He has short light brown hair, with a darker trimmed beard, and a scar right above his right eye, separating his brow. His skin is a deep tan, and there are numerous scars all over his body, especially on his arms and top of his back. He wears a warm and worn travel jacket, with a dark shirt underneath. His jeans are faded, and he wears a pair of old boots. The most noticeable feature about him though are his eyes. They look like they are made of gold, being so light brown. They also show an immense amount of suffering and pain. As if he experienced something no one has ever felt before.
God history: Atlas is the son of Iapetus (the God of Mortality) and Clymene (Goddess of infamy, fame, and the renown). He is also the brother of Prometheus. He was a leader in the Titan War against the Greek Gods, and ultimately lost. His punishment was to stand on the west side of the Earth, and hold up the sky and heavens.
Personality: Atlas is on a road of redemption. He has a heavy heart, and tries his best to differ right from wrong. He is incredibly strong willed, and hard to sway when he has made up his mind. He has a sense of responsibility to help as many as he can, even in this horrible new world they are all now in.
Weapon(s): He has an old sword that he used in the Titan war long ago, but it isn't special.
Relationships/friendships: None yet
Other: "Tell me, Atlas, which is heavier? The world, or its people's hearts?" |
9,441 | 268 | 0 | 538 | 2,678 | It was early in the day and the farmers were out tilling their fields, the morning dew dampening their boots. So as to be decent the blacksmith was not yet hammering away on his anvil, the amiable fellow giving his neighbors ample tame to wake up before he began making such noise. This fine morning the village looked beautiful and serene. Later in the afternoon, it would most likely be a smoking ruin littered with corpses. Already the forces of evil had set their eyes upon that hamlet, the brazen and bloodthirsty eyes of conquerors.
~==--==--==~
The Dungeon Keeper entered his sanctuary in the very back of his cave-lair, deep below the ground. The scarlet, glowing crystal that dominated the center of the room radiated malevolence, bathing the warlock in it. It was not such a bad feeling. He reached out to touch the crystal that was his Dungeon Heart, and felt its power surge into him.
Concentrating, he was able to see the scene of the village that was just outside his domain. The people milled about their daily work, while unbeknownst to them, death was at their very doorstep. In the woods right outside the village nearly all of the Overlord's minions gathered, preparing to conduct the attack that he had ordered.
The village needed to be wiped off the map; they were too close to the dungeon, and they were growing suspicious. Already several farmers had claimed to have seen horrors lurking in the wooded foothills to the south, and there could only be so many tales before the hamlet began to question whether so many travelers were truly madmen to whisper about demons lurking in the mountain caves. Not to mention that the dungeon was running low on supplies; they needed the tools and food that these folk had in store. Live prisoners were also running in low supply, and the various denizens of the dungeon needed such captives for their rituals, experiments, and even amusement.
So the Master had sent every last one of his champions out to sack the village, and even now he watched as they were moved to fully encircle it. His army was quite a varied rabble. Some powerful demons, a likely insane kobold, even a dragon, and then all sorts of other odd fellows... Sending every last one of them to raid such a meager settlement was beyond absurd, but some of them were growing bored. The Overlord was also interested in seeing how each of them behaved. How would they attack? Who worked together, if any of them? Were any smart enough to not get carried away by the carnage and ensure that there were live prisoners and intact supplies to bring back?
Hopefully he would soon have an answer to these questions. He was still not quite sure which ones were msot worthy of leadership positions and which ones fared well together, so he was keen to observe the ensuing battle. Or rather, the ensuing massacre. Stifling a chuckle, he spoke now into the minds of each of his followers, using his telepathy.
In his diabolical rasp of a voice, they would hear, "Go now, and end this village. Let none escape."
~==--==--==~
From between the trees of the small woods you hid in waiting, alongside your master's other followers, you can see the village. It seems prosperous enough, with green fields and many workers out and about. Nearest to you are the farms, small teams of farmers clustered about working with hoes, pitchforks, and rakes. They were better equipped to fight back than most of the others, yet taken by surprise they would likely prove easy targets.
Beyond the farms are many homes, and in the village proper you can see a windmill, an inn, what looks to be small temple, two granaries, a few barns, a blacksmith's hut with a forge outside and all, and in the far distance a manor. Perhaps in that villa a knightly family lives, with all these peasants as serfs. They might be worth taking alive, but then again, if they do turn out to be knights then they could put up a good fight. What do you do? | Name: Whatever his real name is, he hasn't told any of his minions. He demands to be called the Overlord, Master, Dungeon Keeper, or simply 'boss'.
Physical Form: He may appear to be just human, a simple warlock, but make no mistake: possessing that frail human body is an ancient and incredibly powerful demon. The demon's unadulterated malevolence is made visible to the eye by the glowing lines and strange symbols that adorn his face, and his crimson eyes that seem to reflect the deepest pits of hell like a lake reflects the moon.
Abilities: The Dungeon Keeper is essentially a demigod; he is aware of everything that happens inside his own dungeon (and with some simple magic he can see what is happening elsewhere), with a flick of his wrist he could incinerate a dozen people, and overall he could match at least five or six of his champions at once, blow for blow. On top of this he is a powerful warlock, capable of performing all manner of black magic, summoning monstrous beasts or brokering deals with other demons.
He has two fatal weaknesses, however: the first is his human form. He is not the sort of demon that is a massive hulk of red flesh; he is stuck within this fragile body, and while he is harder to kill than a normal human he is still an easy target for any that can withstand his might for long enough to retaliate. His second weakness is that all of his power stems from what he refers to as his Dungeon Heart, and so this heart must be protected at all costs. For these two reasons, don't expect to see him fighting much. He'll have his champions doing that sort of dirty work.
Personality: He is ruthless, seemingly without compassion or care for anything. Brutal and valuing effectiveness over all other traits, one of the quickest ways to his good side is to obey his orders and exceed his expectations. He is not much for words, and not terribly approachable either. Still, if one of his minions hatched a devious enough plan, he might at least listen and consider it.
Wants/Needs: He's utterly hellbent upon enslaving the mortal races and conquering the world.
Relationships: Unless listed otherwise, he feels rather neutral towards your character, or hasn't been left with any impression.
Twich - He's watching this one. Twich seems both competent and useful, so the Master likes him.
That Which Consumes Peace - The Dungeon Keeper is rather agitated with him, after the incident with Shukra.
Shukra - Shukra seems rather ballsy and arrogant. Even though the Master took Shukra's side, he still feels that the warlord might need to be put in his place.
Athinar - Bold, and seems like he might be a good leader. While he doesn't necessarily like Athinar, he will humor his request and grant him a few chances to prove himself as a leader.
Backstory: This invasion of his has been years in the planning; for many centuries he writhed in the abyss of the infernal realm, until he finally managed to escape into this world. Then, he lurked in the darkness, always on the run, biding his time until he sensed that the time was right. Now, that time has come, and through various means he's been gathering together a horde of evil the likes of which this world hasn't seen in thousands of years. |
9,442 | 268 | 1 | 351 | 2,364 | Emily stood watching the village, and had already decided what to do with them. It was interesting to see everyone gathered here, and for her, it was good to be able to scope out everyone that was present in the Dungeon without having the confines of the cave. Most of them looked not so good, but there was a few more spiritual creatures, and that flaming glob thing. And of course, the Oversexd Fairy Girl. When she heard the master's voice, Emily casually stepped out into the ground, and as soon as she got to the border of the village, stopped. Emily's finger then pointed at the floor, and a soft light beamed from it, before she started to walk around it, the light following and making what looked to be, when completed, a circle. At her current meander, it would take some time to cover the entire town, which would give the others time to do there thing. But, her thing and there thing didn't really collide, so the young girl was content to simply do her thing and let them do there thing, while wondering how many things could be in one sentence.
"Things that try to look like things often do look more like things than things, and things that are not trying to look like things are more less like things and more like things they are trying not to look like" she muttered, deciding that eight was a good number. She couldn't really think of another place to put 'things' in and the word itself was begining to sound strange and abstract in her head. | Name:
Twich
Physical Form:
Abilities:
Smarter then thou: What Twich lacks in physical strength and size, he makes up for with a cruel cunning, a twisted intellect and a surprisingly strong will.
Alchemist Training: There are only two things that an alchemist needs to be able to do in order to be a good alchemist; The ability to flip a table and be on the other side of it when what they are working on explodes and the ability to know exactly when to do this. Everything else is just icing on the cake.
If you don't want to eat it just because it has some mold growing on it, hand it over.: Twich is a kobold. They can eat just about anything regardless of how rotten its become just fine without ill effect. They are also immune to horrible smells that would make others sick.
Love the BOOM!: There is something about arson and explosions that just appeals to Twich's soul. The fact that he is very good at creating things that explode and set things on fire makes his inner hatchling very happy.
WHY?! FOR SCIENCE!: Twich doesn't always create or tamper with things to make them explode or catch fire (At least, not as the end goal). Often he likes to create concoctions or perform experiments for a large number of reasons, more often then not because he felt like it or just wants to see if the current theory in his head has any basis in reality.
Personality:
Those who meet Twich would surprisingly discover that he is, above everything else, quite civil. Those above or greater then him will get the recognition that they deserve of course but those of equal and even lower standing will be treated with professional, polite conversation when talking with Twich. They will also quickly discover that he is quite 'mad'; His mind seems to operate on a completely different wavelength then everyone around him and he often views the world far differently from other people as well.
If one really wants to see him in his prime however, all they need to do is suggest a possible alchemy or science experiment within Twich's hearing range. The quest for discovery and knowledge burns within him brighter then the flames of hell themselves; Despite this he has made it quite clear to several demons that have offered him deals for knowledge and alchemist/scientific discoveries in exchange for his soul that he is not interested because 'That was the path of cowards and fools'.
Even the most evil of beings would find the calm, professional and somewhat detracted approach that Twich takes with his experiments rather... unnerving. Almost all of his experiments are performed on live test subjects... often without their knowledge let alone consent.
Wants/Needs: A bigger lab, more resources and freedom to explore with his various fields of science and alchemy. First pick of any group of slaves and captives with no questions asked as to why he wants/needs them. The right to take any student that he wishes.
Relationships: Fairly civil, shows the needed respect to those that require it.
Backstory: Twich was born to the Snakebiter tribe, a kobold tribe that had its tunnels located underneath a somewhat poisonous swamp. Taken to be trained as an alchemist rather early on when he showed he had a knack for it, Twich rather quickly learned everything that his tribe knew about it and found himself consumed by the desire to learn more. At first traveling to other kobold tribes to study, Twich soon found himself learning from many of the other underworld denizens in exchange for his services; At times he even found teachers among the more open minded of the surface dwelling races. When he ran out of teachers who could offer him new knowledge, Twich wasn't satisfied. He needed to know more and that meant he needed to create more things to learn himself.
This is rather challenging as an independent working alone... but with the raise of the Master and his 'Hordes of Darkness', Twich found a patron who could make his dreams and desires a reality in exchange for his services.
Other: - |
9,443 | 268 | 2 | 740 | 392 | That Which Consumes Peace gazes at the other evil-doers, a rag-tag but dangerous bunch.
"Full of potential.", the demon mutters to himself, a small grin playing on his lips.
He peers over to a kobold that is seemingly giving orders.
"Well that's no good. ", is his comment on the sight.
That looks over to his shoulder, glancing at the small fairy sitting with her feet dangling.
"Can I do sumthin' for ya boss?"", is her cheerful response.
"Go. Join the other warriors. Help and feed off of the murder."
"Okay boss!"
He watches as She Who Bathes In Blood flies off towards the village carrying an axe twice as big as her. The demon fairy will feed off and give power to the fellow evil-doers as they killed.
Now, it's his turn. That Which Consumes Peace teleports to the field where the farmers have yet to realize the assault that is incoming. The demon grins to himself as his invisible form examines the farmers.
He activates his aura, along with whispering in the minds of each and every one of them. Soon, they are mindlessly attacking and killing each other over petty arguments. After the farmers are nothing but bodies with pitchforks and hoes sticking out of them, That gives a small laugh.
"That was absolutely delicious."
He considered burning the crops, but decided against it. It may cause more chaos, but it would draw early opposition against him for burning supplies that the dungeon could use. He would have to wait for the right moment to maximize his chaos potential. | Name: Emily Kabal, Spirit's Sonnet
Physical Form: Innoculious and cute, Emily is in every way a young human girl that draws little attention and can go wherever she wants to without anyone becoming sucpicious, and anyone who does think to stop Emily gets such a heart melting smile they can't help but let her go on. She has no physical Tell to inform a person there is more than meets the eye, and she wears casual peasant garb which further enhances her ability to slip in wherever and whenever she wants.
Abilities: Magic is Emily's forte, and she fortes brilliantly. There are few human warlocks who could compete with Emily by herself, and she is assisted in her magical talent by four Sung Spirits - a special branch of spirit that can only be summoned by singing, rather than ritual - which pushes her magical prowess far beyond what any mortal could ever dream of. The three spirits she hosts are Storm, Earth and Fire, with an Overseer spirit that watches the other three and posesses talent in their schools. Most of her spells are generic, if powerfully utalized, but the one unique spell she posesses is Empyrean; The Fire King's Crown. It does not exist in this dimension the same way that the rest of her magic does, and so she needs help from her Fire spirit and the Overseer to conjuer it. She creates the physical shell while her spirits fill it with the fire itself. Once that is done, Empyrean; The Fire King's Crown can be used in two differen manners. The first is a singular target, which upon impact incinrates them internally and externally at the same moment, making it effective even against armour or barriers - something to note is that if the target can absorb heat and fire, then they are super-charged by it rather than burned to a cinder. The second is a wide spread attack that causes an extremely hot fire to voraciously spread through the surrounding area, engulfing a small village in moments. The strain, both physically and magically, is considerable so it is not often used. Another rather personal, but not unique, ability is how Emily can use her fire as a sort of Afterburner, and fly through the sky. This is not very subtle, and causes her magics to drain at a constant rate, so she does not use it lightly. The third uncommon ability is her teleporting from Fire to Fire. This requires a pillar of flame to engulf Emily, and then a second Pillar of flame to drop her off. The disadvantage is that it causes disorientation and the second pillar can sometimes not be available.
Aside from magical abilities Emily can - obviously - sing very well, and enjoys simply singing for the thrill of it. She puts this to use summoning her spirits, most commonly Blanks which can posess weak-willed humans or recently dead cadavers and provide Emily with feedback and obidience. With slightly more effort, Emily can bind elemental spirits to herself - or though currently she is at her limit and wants to give her body time to adjust before getting more - and also to beings like Wolves, and Badgers, and Sheep. And humans, but they are usually not so cool and not so plentiful. Emily has a sharp mind as well, able to create a plan in a few moments and chain together her three magical elements, creating a combo that is able to take out massive creatures, well confident of their own abilities before they came face to face with this young girl. Physically, she is of a standard teenagers strength and durability, so she avoids close combat.
A final, and rather unknown power, is Emily's ability to percieve Magic. When it is being used, how much, and also the strength of the person she is looking at. This gives her a clear advantage over other magic users, since it allows her to see what theyr are about to use, and work around it. This technique turns her eyes pure gold, and drains her power at a constant rate, so extended useage is unadvisable.
Wants/Needs: While Emily is happy serving Master in every way, she does have a long-term goal to summon and bind Spitfire, The Fire King, Nike, The Earth King, and Minami, the Storm King.
Relationships: Other than her devotion to the Master, Emily fits in well with all kind of Spirits, so she is often found in the company of Umbra and Narza.
Backstory: Emily is a Homonculus, an artifically created Human, and the first sucess in a string of failures that created useless, deformed monstrosities. She was created with magical power in mind, so the creation process sacrificed the strength most artificals could posess in return for a much deeper magical pool. Some think that she does not have a soul because she was created, but that is a falicy, since even Homonculi need souls to exist. She was pushed, magically, to increase her power, and get stronger until a point where she could handle Sung Spirits inhabiting her. She summoned her first, a spirit of Fire, and after a few months of training and control, summoned even more spirits until she had the total of four she has now.
Other: ((Anything else that you want to mention?)) |
9,444 | 268 | 3 | 640 | 262 | Overhearing the kobold's order as they began their mission, Ekusha derived a plan of her own.
She broke away from the group and released herself from her corporeal form. The village was insignificant, but Ekusha had no doubt everybody would be going all-out to prove their significance. In that case...
Ekusha began probing the minds of the local leadership: the local lord, priests, artists, etc. She eventually came across a clergyman sweeping the premises. He had been at the church before dawn to prepare for ritual, and all he wanted was to go home and rest. He had devoted his entire youth to religious service under the priest, but he often faltered in thought, blaming the priest for his severe shy-ness and his longing for romantic companionship. Kill him.
The youngest son of the local lord played with the children of the aristocracy out in a field adjacent to the city square. Often, he was picked on for being small, especially by his own brothers. He couldn't help it, though; he was the only one in this group who had not yet reached adolescence. In their games of tag, he would be tackled and held down. The others would often laugh at the expense of this child, yet he would continually attempt to save face and play on. Now, he was it. The older kids surrounded him, taunting him to run after them. Of course, his little legs would never be able to catch up. But, in the midst of a gust of wind and a small pick-up at the square, he came up with another plan. After untucking the slingshot from the back of his trousers, the child loaded it with several shards of broken glass. In a flick-of-the-wrist, they flew through the air, chasing his tormentors.
Her plans would have had a more severe effect given more time, but it would all be in vain since the little village would be leveled by the monsters she would have to fight alongside. Ugh, she thought, disgusted that what she considered her art-form would be overshadowed by barbaric slaughter. | Ekusha, the Vain
Physical Form:5'4; petite build.
Tattoos animate (shift positions, change entirely, etc).
Long black hair, nearly reaching waist-level.
Pitch-black pupils.
Mezzo-soprano voice.
Abilities:Exerts influence upon lesser beings, mimicking hypnosis, through various means:
Fear, by preying on insecurities.
Lust, through worldly temptations.
Anger, with impassioned words.
Adapts and evolves external persona to thrive.
Leadership skill set, grand advisor:
Political strategist.
Military tactician.
Economic genius.
Incarnates at will into any one realm.
Can observe and interact without corporeal form.
Exists as a single Cartesian point.
Shapeshifter in physical being.
Personality:Externally appealing and persuasive, especially to lesser beings.
Knows how to kiss some ass to get her way.
Ambitious, but selfish and arrogant about her own success.
Vain when successful, and envious otherwise.
Wants/Needs: Ekusha desires attention in general, whether it be through worship, fame, or influence. Her spirit is immortal, but her power is derived from her more susceptible and impressionable followers (overworld inhabitants, weaker spirits, lesser angels/demons, etc). Her greatest fear is fading into irrelevance, and therefore she is compelled to substantially impose herself on others.
Relationships: Ekusha easily makes and breaks connections, enjoying a degree of self-imposed solitude when she feels is appropriate and dealing with others when it proves advantageous. In this new apocalypse, she is open to getting all the help she can, so long as she gets her cut.
Dungeon Keeper: -
Athinar Gol-Gaia: -
Yappo: -
Emily Kabal: -
That Which Consumes Peace: -
Narza: -
Tiberius Octavius Pulcher: -
Shukra, the Rakshasa: -
Kor, the Darkwraith: -
Tinkerhel: -
Azavarn: -
Umbra: -
Torrens Igneus: -
Clotho: -
Twitch, the Snakebiter: -
Wold, the Dragon: -
Backstory: Throughout time, Ekusha has played a variety of roles in various realms: from grand despot, to military commander, to religious icon, to many other minor roles. She has also, in other instances, fooled many into believing her to be a deity or demon, but she is merely a spirit with no true celestial or infernal affiliation. Her allegiance is ultimately towards herself.
She is cunning in her ways, seeking power in any form available to her. She enjoys being idolized, and being able to use her influence to subjugate all beings through speech and slaughter. She has fought countless battles, and fled her own destruction just as many times. She puts herself in constant conflict with the many idols the world has produced, and her power constantly cycles between significance and non-existence.
Now, Ekusha comes to the Dungeon Keeper in hopes of securing power. She wants to conquer for herself an empire that will last until eternity. She wants subjects across all lands, in all realms, that stand before her. She sees the Dungeon Keeper as a messiah, his apocalypse a revolution, and herself an empress in the making.
Other:Often found observing from the universal sidelines, when not inhabiting any particular realm.
Incalculable amounts of experience in rising to power, over the course of countless lifetimes. |
9,445 | 268 | 4 | 2,360 | 668 | Umbra stood still as the others gathered near the entrance of the village. It was still evening, and the sun still shined brightly in the sky preventing him from taking a physical form. The others most likely planned on attacking the village head on, burning anything and anyone that got in their way, some possibly even taking the less fortunate prisoners. Umbra though had set his eyes on what he considered the real target or at the very least his only real target. A distant manor with likely rich and wealthy inhabitants who could cause a problem if they are left alone, even if they chose to run away they may alert nearby villages.
As soon as the Master had alerted his army to begin the assault, those around him quickly began to make their moves. The Kobold did his best to formulate a strategy of attack, others seemed to walk past him only focusing on the amount of destruction they can cause. Umbra quickly traveled to the manor ignoring those around him and traveling at high speeds.
Finally arriving at the large manor he was relieved by the lack of light within. The size making it difficult to fully rely on windows and natural lighting, but it wasn’t until he moved into the library that he noticed an older Gentleman sitting calmly reading a fairly lengthy book next to a small candle. He seemed to be the lord of the house, blissfully ignorant of what is going on. A mistake the man will never live long enough to regret. | Name: Darkwraith Kor
Physical Form: The darkwraiths are beings that were once humans, but were twisted to depravity through the temptation of a dark serpent. These beings feast on the souls of their victims, and also on their very humanity. The darkwraiths have a drug-like addiction to humanity and in feasting on it, they drain the sanity from their victims to retain their own. Their skeletal appearance is actually a suit of armor granted to them by the serpent. Beneath it, the a healthy darkwraith looks very much human, but a starved one will have their nature revealed with wrinkled, rotting flesh. Kor stands at about six feet. Beneath his helmet, his face his stern and gaunt, with unkempt black hair and dark brown eyes. He has a muscular build derived from years of hunting down his prey.
Abilities: The Dark Hand- This is the magic weapon granted to all darkwraiths by the serpent. It is a manifestation of the darkness in their souls, and in its idle form appears to be an ethereal orb of blackness with streaks of red squirming about its wielder's hand. The Dark Hand can warp into both a sword and a shield with a complete physical manifestation. Due to the ethereal nature of the Dark Hand, it cannot be broken, but at the same time it will often yield to sturdy materials.
Lifedrain- The most feared of the darkwraith's abilities. The user channels his hunger into his Dark Hand and lunges at a victim. Upon contact, he drains the victim of his humanity. This does no physical damage to the target, but destroys its sanity, turning it into a soul-starved creature that will attack friend and foe alike. This ability does not work on those that are already corrupted or depraved, but on those that are valiant and righteous.
Abysswalker- In this world, there exist magics, indeed entire planes, forged from darkness itself. The darkwraiths are one of the few beings that thrive in such darkness. They are immune to the effects of darkness-based magic and can freely navigate through any realms made of darkness.
Red Eye Orb- A blood-red orb with a menacing eye carved into it. This orb seeks out the pure of heart, and once a target is located the orb will begin to pulsate. Once the target has been located, no amount of walls or barricades can stop a Darkwraith. They can use the Red Eye Orb to transport them to the general vicinity of the target. This comes with great risk, though. The orb does not reveal who the target is or what defenses are established, and it will only bring them withing 100 feet of the target. The darkwraith may be stepping into his own doom.
The Dark Sword- The melee weapon of choice for darkwraiths. The Dark Sword is a straight sword with a thick, wide, blade. The additional mass makes it good for staggering heavily armored foes. Though heavy, Kor can wield this blade masterfully, preferring to unleash a flurry of quick strikes rather than large single strikes.
Ring of the Evil Eye- Legend has it the this ring contains the spirit of a terrible monster that assaulted the lands long ago. Now, the power of this beast's cruelty is channeled into the bearer. With every slain foe, some of the wearer's energy is restored, and light wounds begin to heal.
Personality: In a word, voracious. Where others look at a battle and see terror and carnage, glory and honor, Kor sees a king's feast. These peaceful times have left Kor anxious and irritable from his hunger, but once his appetite becomes satiated he becomes as morbidly jovial as the next minion of darkness celebrating his victory.
Wants/Needs: Kor is driven by a relentless hunger for souls and humanity, but also takes pleasure in the dark. However, Kor is also reasonably intelligent, so any tools that would assist him in his hunt would be seen as an ample reward.
Backstory: Kor was once human, but that is all he remembers of his days before he was a darkwraith. For one reason or another, Kor found himself at the bottom of a pitch-black chasm, unmarked on any maps. He was terrified a first, but then he heard the voice of the serpent. It was a soothing voice, an infallible voice: "You were born from the Dark, why do you fear it?" Kor's pulse slowed and he sat upright. That's right, it was only darkness, there was no reason to be afraid. "Ah, you are not like the others who tremble at the Dark! Come, let me give you this gift, and you can be the savior to usher in a new age!" Naturally, the years of hiding in the shadows merely to sustain his own existence was grueling for Kor. However, when he heard of the new dungeon keeper, the prospect of open combat was appealing, plus he liked the new age that the dungeon keeper wanted to usher in. |
9,446 | 268 | 5 | 1,449 | 5,930 | Though among the trunks of the shadowed wood there lurked many ferocious monsters, an entirely different beast altogether hovered higher than the leaves. From her height Clotho scanned the village, identifying each structure and its purpose as she decided which of her minions might do the best where. Her thoughts were interrupted for a time by the squeaking of the kobold below, who fancied himself a tactician. Unlike the majority of her compatriots, Clotho willingly considered his plan of action, though she had little respect for Twitch in truth. Deadliness in battle and a sharp intellect were not mutually exclusive, no; Cloth embodied them both. Though she aspired to a leadership position among the Master's throng as much as she suspected Twitch did, she willingly conceded that his plan would serve the group well, if only there were more to listen.
As the mass of monsters, demons, and other servants of the Master surged forth, whether to set up a destructive spell, entertain themselves with pointless manipulations of the doomed townsfolk, or otherwise get ready to rampage, Clotho descended to Twitch's side on gossamer wings. Rather than touching the ground beside the kobold, she hovered in the air, her wings moving too quickly to be seen by any but the sharpest of eyes. “I get the feeling,” she chirped in a vibrating voice, “That few of our supposed allies will obey you. Their loss...it is a fine plan. One that I wished I had come up with, but I am more proficient as a field commander. You may rely on me and mine to form team Execute. Hunt well.”
With that, Clotho zipped off into the hamlet. Behind her shot a steady trail of hornets and flies, barely able to keep up with the fastest member of the Master's horde as she made a beeline for the village's sole manor. She dived through its window, reducing the wooden shutters to a deluge of splinters, and slid across the floor when she touched down. The nobles within the building, the hamlet's mayor and his two brothers, were at first nowhere to be seen. Drawn by the noise, however, one of the men poked his head around an interior corner, and within a flash Clotho's compound eyes had located her prey. With uncanny speed, she flicked the fingers of her left hand, and a blur shot out to smack into the brother's forehead. The shape resolved itself to be a gruesome, slimy, black leech, which wasted no time in attaching itself to the man's forehead and starting to suck. Yelping in surprise, he stumbled back, and Clotho appeared behind him, darting more quickly than seemed possible. She pulled her barbed rapier from her back and with very little ceremony impaled the man through his neck, instantly and mercifully killing him, and preventing him from being conscious of the resulting mess when she pulled her weapon out. A cry from upstairs announced that her insects were swarming around another man, and Clotho sped upstairs to meet him. Though this man had a sword in hand, he was afforded no space to use it thanks to the bugs biting him en masse. Still, Clotho fancied a challenge, and smacked his sword around several times as if he were actually fencing. “No, no, no,” she chided, flicking her wrist and sending the man's sword into the wall with a thud. “You're leaving yourself wide open.” Into the helpless man's torso went the rapier, and when she pulled it out in a visceral shower that left the brother wide open indeed, she found his heart caught on the barb. “Most girls only dream of winning a rich man's heart. Lucky me.”
The drone of flies in her ear transmitted the location of the mayor to her—the library. With great haste Clotho flitted down to it, zooming in through the open doors and bashing through the closed. A few seconds later, she'd arrived in the library, but before she ran her rapier through the back of the man's chair, she felt an odd presence in the place. Her brilliant green, compound eyes narrowed on a suspicious patch of shadow, one so thick as to seem almost alive. “Umbra,” she chittered, modulating her own voice to a frequency too high for the human to hear. She gave an unintelligible command to her insects, who began the process of seeking the manor's valuables and ferreting them away. “And here I thought I'd have all the fun. Are you going to finish this man before the villagers revolt, or do I need to put off the elimination of the clergymen to do your job for you?” | Name: Clotho
Physical Form: Clotho is a foot taller than most men, with long arms and legs, and has a chitinous exoskeleton that is a dull brown-maroon in color. Four gossamer rounded wings, transparent green with orange edges, form into a cloak when not in use. Her shell forms into a barbaric-style armor around her shoulders, knees and thighs, gauntlets, and chest. Small spikes line many of the edges of her shell. Her face is crossed with seams, her nose is inhumanly sharp, and her wide mouth is lined with razor-sharp teeth. A shock of black hair more like spines protrudes from the top of her head. Additionally, her eyes are a bright, luminescent green, with layered pupil rings. Instead of hair, two membranous mini-wings protruding from her upper back form into a hood.
Abilities: Clotho's wings grant her the power of flight, which she can perform with almost ludicrous speed and agility. Her insect carapace functions like armor, affording her ample protections. Hidden inside her left forearm is the Stinger, which she can project from her palm for stabbing. The Stinger can inject a variety of toxins into a target, all of which are manufactured chemically within Clotho's own glands. Such toxins include 'poison', 'paralysis', 'mutation', 'subordination', 'blindness', and 'calcification'.
Cloth also has the ability to command bugs and parasites. Aside from conjuring flies, hornets, leeches, worms, and flesh-eating beetles, sometimes in vast swarms, she also controls her own minions in the form of Myrmidons, Lambent, and Antlions. These she orders around via chirp-calls, and she has no true leadership ability.
The true combat ability of Clotho, however, lies in her rapier. With a barbed tip, it can slide into flesh cleanly and eviscerate it on the way out. Its flexible blade allows Clotho to lash the tip around when fighting, cutting and gashing opponents as she opens them up for a thrust. Its deceptive deadliness, couple with Clotho's uncanny speed and notable strength, make it a lethal tool of destruction.
Personality: A certain conflict underlies Clotho's convincing exterior. Deep inside she is still Nona, confused and reticent and immature. This directly disparages with the aged experience of the that melded its soul with hers, whose bloodthirsty monstrosity has guided her thus far as a Keeper. The union of the two distinct spirits produced Clotho, a cunning, intelligent imperialist. Clotho is without conscious barring the distant, faint murmurs of the suppressed girl within her, and will kill without question, though good judgment keeps her from exercising this often. Though self-centered, she is more than willing to make alliances and deals for mutual gain, and will even adhere to them—an behavior unheard of among most such creatures.
Wants/Needs: Clotho lusts for power and control. She wants nothing more than to rise through the ranks of her master and become both his most powerful warrior and most trusted ally. Eventually, Clotho wishes to gain the ability to become a Dungeon Keeper herself, though she does not plan whatsoever on betraying her current master.
Relationships: None
Backstory: Clotho was once human, an urchin of Virens. This premier logging town, situated in the Oerwood Forest north of the Saploya river, was home to over two hundred thousand, but never truly to a girl called Nona. Surviving by her wits and her knack for finding odd jobs, she later became reliant on the family of Theo Rosenstern. Theo, playing the nobleman as well as the romantic, sought to feel better about his own clan's success and gain a girlfriend in the process by hanging out with Nona and helping her get by. Ever in need of aid, Nona accepted, forming an uneasy relationship with the boy while trying to make ends meet. From a young age, the Biomancer's Guild of Virens, responsible for the magical acceleration of conditioning of the city's saplings and crops, had fascinated her, but her own lowly beginnings and ineptitude for magic estranged her from the organization.
It was in this stagnation, during her nineteenth year of a woeful life, that a voice first reached out to her through her dreams. Its whispers, low and meaningless at first, grew in strength as she became more desperate, and finally its message became clear: journey into the jungle and find a special insect. After convincing Theo to accompany her, Nona left in the morning to pursue her dream. Hours later, she arrived in an unpeopled lumber camp miles from the city limits. Upon entering the shack at its center, she beheld a nasty-looking metallic green wasp confined in a jar. In a trance, she seized the jar -totally unresponsive to Theo's urges- and smashed it against the ground, freeing the wasp. Immediately it stung her, injecting into her the ancient soul of an insidious being of darkness—Kafka.
The two minds, girl and monster, melded, and in the process her own body transformed into its current state. Long before the modification finished, Theo took to his heels. That day, Clotho came to be.
From there she imposed herself on the forest, thinking to become a force of darkness. Though the self-appointed Vermin Queen stockpiled quite the retinue of mindless insectoid minions, and gave the nearby towns a great deal of trouble, she never quite lived up to the status of an evil overlord. After a botched attempt to obliterate her former hometown caused an army of avenging townsfolk to converge on her lair, she fled south until she happened to find one of the Overlord's bands. After wiping the plains with them, she sought the Overlord's dungeon, and pledged her service to him without question. |
9,447 | 268 | 6 | 1,512 | 202 | Narza trembled with excitement, staring at all the souls within the small village. The voices in her head were telling her to kill them, mostly. There were exactly 70 voices, 66 of them human and screaming similar things such as "KILL", "SLAUGHTER", "DESTROY", "DEFILE". Three of them were inhuman and spoke in overwhelming images and emotions. Blades of wind ripping flesh from bone, vicious waves smashing down houses and humans alike, sadistic shadows swallowing humans whole, leaving behind only unrecognizable crimson mounds. And the final voice was telling Narza what to do after, how to devour those souls whole and grow ever more powerful. Narza intended to indulge each and every voice.
Her ghostly body, weak to light and heat, would burn in the bright sunlight. On the way to the village, she'd figured out how to weave mist and wind to create a thick fog that thoroughly blocked out the sunlight. This dark, opaque cloud could hear a kobold issuing orders, but ignored them and rushed past. Narza had enough to listen to as it was, and didn't need another person to tell her what she should do.
Strong souls stood out more against the weak souls, and none of the humans had any especially strong souls. Narza's competitors comrades actually had the most interesting souls, but she didn't dare try to take any of them yet. Souls without a body stood out the strongest, however, like a lantern without glass panes. Narza swept up the "freed" souls first, greedily swallowing down and absorbing each soul as she came to it. Left on their own, souls would quickly drift away and vanish, so she had to act fast. Men, woman, children, all were frightened by the terror of death, and no soul's willpower was strong enough to last longer than a moment against the onrush of 66 and growing tormented souls.
Maybe she had rushed forward to soon though, as she'd pulled in front of many of her co-workers. Looking distastefully at all the living bodies, the farmers holding their pitchforks uncertainly, the children running and hiding behind their fathers, Narza swept forward toward a father-daughter pair and enveloped them both in her fog. Narza pulled the pair apart with a burst of wind, laughing joyously. Suddenly thrust within a cold realm of darkness and separated from each other, their terror spiked to new levels. Without a calm mind to resist her, Narza ripped their souls out of their body with ease and moved on, leaving behind two prone bodies, theirs chests still rising and falling, but their eyes only stared blankly at nothing.
One twisted little girl, 78 insane humans, 3 Elementals, Derrik the dark mage | Name: Narza (unable to remember her last name)
Physical Form:
Chimeric Specter
Narza is an amalgamation of a wide variety of souls, brought about by a somewhat mediocre dark mage named Derrik. The dark mage combined, a few dozen tormented human souls, the soul of an innocent young human girl, freshly killed to serve as the catalyst, and three different Elementals, one of Wind, one of Water, and one of Darkness. Dreaming of power and infamy, Derrik aimed to create a fearsome tri-element familiar and make his familiar’s personality more easily controlled by using a young girl’s soul as the base. While the dark mage succeeded in fusing the souls, one of his more mediocre points showed in his binding abilities.
The chimeric spirit broke free and consumed the dark mage the split-second after it was born. Because the chimeric spirit hadn’t settled and solidified, it ended up absorbing the dark mage into its core, giving it some of the abilities of the dark mage as well. A battle for dominance over the soul ensued. The dark mage, already weakened by the fusion process, was unanimously dealt with by the other souls. The elementals fell next, overwhelmed by the many insane human souls. With the elementals gone, the tormented souls fell upon each other, tearing each other apart in mindless agony. In the end, only the soul of the young girl, added most recently (aside from the dark mage), was left intact. Her name was Narza.
Magic and Abilities:
Invisibility (turn invisible, simple for a ghost)
Incorporeal Form (she actually can’t touch things if she tried, currently)
Soul Steal (steal a target’s soul, works better on weaker and weakened targets)
Devour soul (grow stronger by consuming a soul, stronger souls are more difficult to consume but are worth more. Slightly increases her magical power.)
Possess Husk(take control of a soulless body. Allows Narza to take a physical form and use that body’s magic at a fraction of its strength. She can’t preserve its health until stronger.)
Elemental Affinity for Water/Ice
Elemental Affinity for Wind/Air
Flight (ghosts can naturally fly)
Resistant to poison (How would you poison a ghost?)
Soul Sense (Sense souls around Narza, souls have to be sensed before they can be interacted with afterall)
Soul Replacement (put a soul back into a soulless body.)
Locked: (until more souls are eaten and she grows stronger)
Soul Scour (rip apart a soul for information. Narza can learn a magic if she rips apart enough souls that know that magic. Also aids in digestion.)
Corporeal Form (become solid, taking any appearance)
Elemental Affinity for Darkness
Soul Fusion (combine stolen souls.)
Lightning (subtype of Wind/Air)
Weaknesses:
Fire/Heat
Earth
Holy/Light Magic
Sanctified ground/equipment
Holy Water (somewhat nullified by Water/Ice Affinity)
Due to Narza’s Wind/Water/Darkness affinity and spirit body, she’s doubly vulnerable to light and heat. She also can’t pass through the ground like normal ghosts until she’s stronger. Additionally, Narza cannot learn any magic of opposing elements. Has no skill with weapons.
Personality: Innocent, naive, and terribly hateful. Has the personality of a young girl, the ambition of a failed dark mage, and the hatred and anger of many dozens of tormented souls. As a former twelve-year old, Narza little knowledge of the world save for the bits absorbed from her shredded inhabitants, but is curious and sharp. She’s also spiteful and mischievous, with little moral direction even without factoring in the dark mage in her. When the malice of the tormented souls wrests free of her control as they will from time to time, she’ll seemingly lose her temper without warning. Occasionally, she will ask you for your soul out of the blue when her hunger gets to be too much.
Wants/Needs: Souls, especially magical ones or those of mages.
Relationships: Likes to hang out with fellow spirits such as Narza and Umbra.
Backstory: The dark mage Narza consumed left behind a slight sense of loyalty and responsibility to the Dungeon Keeper, so she asked to serve as well, and was accepted. She has inherited the Derrik's possessions, which are:
Basic clothing: Musty dark mage robes, all black and nefarious-looking. And smelling. Narza wouldn't wear them even if she could. (Not that she floats around naked, mind you. She wears what she wore when she died (but will be able to change that later.))
Basic alchemy set
Alchemy ingredient shelf, poorly stocked (previous owner wasn't big on alchemy)
Ritual circle, high-class but defective (Since Narza was able to break free)
Enchanted storage ring, low level, holding dust, empty alchemy flasks, and dirty clothing (has a capacity space of two square meters)
Basic elemental spell tomes: A beginner's guide to Fire Magic, A beginner's guide to Water Magic, A beginner's guide to Wind Magic, A beginner's guide to Earth Magic, A beginner's guide to Dark Magic (laying in a disorderly pile on the floor.)
Arlog's Thesis on soul-binding - Abridged version (another tome
Binding and Sealing - All you need to take a Familiar (Well leafed magic tome, and frozen solid)
Enchanted dagger, for rituals and self-defense. (Never dulls, and is sharper and tougher than normal. Holds a sinister miasma since it has been immersed in dark magic and taken the lives of many innocents in cold blood. Nothing special though.)
Scrying orb of low quality (See distant locations, but only from far away, or a specific location, but must have been there before.)
Staff of Darkness (An enchanted length of wood that make using dark magic slightly easier. Even a level One mage would start with better gear than this.
Mana-recovery trinkets (Barely worth wearing, and also too gaudy.)
Various spell books (all shelved, that Narza can't get to yet since she isn't corporeal. )
Enchanted treasure chest (enchanted to resist weather effects and only open to the owner, holding a mix of souls from different races)
Other: Would be classified as an Assassin/Mage I suppose. Will do anything for a soul. |
9,448 | 268 | 7 | 538 | 2,678 | The Overlord used his magical sight to watch the ensuing attack from above the village, as if he was one of the many vultures that were already hungrily coming to circle over the place. Twich was trying to take command and organize a coherent strategy. He would have to see how that went; perhaps the kobold had a penchant for strategy, but of course his weaker stature no doubt meant that many of the others wouldn't respect his orders. He would consider giving the kobold some authority so that his plans might hold more weight next time, but of course he also kept an eye upon Clotho. She was quick, ruthless, and competent, all of the traits that he approved of. She seemed a more natural choice, albeit perhaps less cunning, as she wasn't the one that had devised a plan, after all.
As expected some of the bloodthirsty and reckless of his champions went straight for the vulnerable farmers. Such a quick attack had its merits, though he took note of their lack of cooperation with the others that had held back to devise some sort of strategy. Their boldness seemed incompatible with the cool and deliberate forethought of others, though together with others of their mindset they might be capable of working together effectively. If not, perhaps they would be best used for solo tasks.
With mild amusement he watched the Darkwraith worm its way into the center of the village and then defile the sanctity of the temple by spilling blood, before proceeding to set the whole place aflame. Similarly, Clotho and Umbra were clearing out the manor. It seemed that the nobles there were not of the knightly sort after all. The quick demise of two inside the manor to Clotho's hand was somewhat expected, albeit still somewhat disappointing. It appeared that there would be nobody in the hamlet to put up a decent fight.
His attention turned once more to the small temple, where he noticed that a small plume of black smoke was now rising from it. Kor had already driven out the terrified masses from within and set the building ablaze! Hearing the screams, four clerics stepped out from a doorway to one of the village hovels, having likely been performing some healing work on the people inside. Immediately seeing the destruction and the defilement of their temple, the two clerics rushed towards the inside of the smoky building, looking for the perpetrator.
Their robes and staffs suggested that they were magic users of some sort, and priests tended to be learned in the type of holy magic that was most effective against the undead. If Kor had remained inside the temple long enough to be apprehended, he might find himself faced by two worthy opponents! Of course, others would most likely be quick to come to his aid, if he proved to have difficulty handling the two sorcerers. | Name: Whatever his real name is, he hasn't told any of his minions. He demands to be called the Overlord, Master, Dungeon Keeper, or simply 'boss'.
Physical Form: He may appear to be just human, a simple warlock, but make no mistake: possessing that frail human body is an ancient and incredibly powerful demon. The demon's unadulterated malevolence is made visible to the eye by the glowing lines and strange symbols that adorn his face, and his crimson eyes that seem to reflect the deepest pits of hell like a lake reflects the moon.
Abilities: The Dungeon Keeper is essentially a demigod; he is aware of everything that happens inside his own dungeon (and with some simple magic he can see what is happening elsewhere), with a flick of his wrist he could incinerate a dozen people, and overall he could match at least five or six of his champions at once, blow for blow. On top of this he is a powerful warlock, capable of performing all manner of black magic, summoning monstrous beasts or brokering deals with other demons.
He has two fatal weaknesses, however: the first is his human form. He is not the sort of demon that is a massive hulk of red flesh; he is stuck within this fragile body, and while he is harder to kill than a normal human he is still an easy target for any that can withstand his might for long enough to retaliate. His second weakness is that all of his power stems from what he refers to as his Dungeon Heart, and so this heart must be protected at all costs. For these two reasons, don't expect to see him fighting much. He'll have his champions doing that sort of dirty work.
Personality: He is ruthless, seemingly without compassion or care for anything. Brutal and valuing effectiveness over all other traits, one of the quickest ways to his good side is to obey his orders and exceed his expectations. He is not much for words, and not terribly approachable either. Still, if one of his minions hatched a devious enough plan, he might at least listen and consider it.
Wants/Needs: He's utterly hellbent upon enslaving the mortal races and conquering the world.
Relationships: Unless listed otherwise, he feels rather neutral towards your character, or hasn't been left with any impression.
Twich - He's watching this one. Twich seems both competent and useful, so the Master likes him.
That Which Consumes Peace - The Dungeon Keeper is rather agitated with him, after the incident with Shukra.
Shukra - Shukra seems rather ballsy and arrogant. Even though the Master took Shukra's side, he still feels that the warlord might need to be put in his place.
Athinar - Bold, and seems like he might be a good leader. While he doesn't necessarily like Athinar, he will humor his request and grant him a few chances to prove himself as a leader.
Backstory: This invasion of his has been years in the planning; for many centuries he writhed in the abyss of the infernal realm, until he finally managed to escape into this world. Then, he lurked in the darkness, always on the run, biding his time until he sensed that the time was right. Now, that time has come, and through various means he's been gathering together a horde of evil the likes of which this world hasn't seen in thousands of years. |
9,449 | 268 | 8 | 1,270 | 2,337 | Emily looked on at her companions, if they could be called such, as she continuted her curcit around the village. Few noticed a young girl walking around outside when there where people dying, and all manner of creature decending on them, which made her job so much easier. What also made her job, or rather what she was planning, was that one of the Master's creatures seemed to be stealing souls from bodies without caring much for killing them first, leaving empty husks in it's wake.
That, Emily thought, was very interesting indeed. No fighting, not sitting alongside, just taking like it was an abandoned coat on the wayside. If she hurried up, maybe there would be intact bodies to host, which would certainly help. A body ravaged, with no legs or a lung cut in half was not a nice thing to host. So, as Emily finished the circle she turned and faced the village, looking on at the carnage for several seconds before she called upon the power of her Fire Spirit to assist her, and flames blossomed in her palms a few seconds later. The thrust they produced sent the young woman skyward, in a spectacular display that would have amazed the peasants, where they not currently getting raided. Once she could see the whole village, Emily shut off her fires and started to draw. Lines of Light shot through the village along the ground, passing houses and people as they moved from one side of the giant circle to another. Slowly, a pattern began to form, and that in turn became a Rune. The whole, flying air-draw thing was risky, but it certainly got the drawing done a lot quicker than she had expected it to.
With the rune finished, Emily engaged her flame thrusters again, but she was to close to the ground for them to stop her completely, and with a startled yelp, she collided into the ground rather hard, kicking up dust and making a very satisfying - if it was not her that was making the noise - thud sound. She wasn't dead, or unconscious, just dazed, since her physical form was not amazingly durable. It would take her a small while to shake off the hit, and so for the moment she simply laid there, her brain spinning and telling her how reckless that last move was. | Name:
Tiberius Octavius Pulcher, "The Dashing Bastard"
Physical Form: "I put the gore in gorgeous!"
6'6" and 300 of tight body tone. Unarmored, he has a score of scars running him over from a decade in the arenas. His eyes are a fine gray with a catlike shimmer of silver in the back.
Abilities:
Curse; The cornerstone of the hexblade, the ability to lay a witches malicious befuddlement upon intended targets. Not an attack in of itself, it is a go-to weakening of the enemy before engaging. He often pairs the curse with a memorized intimidation to follow up and bring most to cower before finishing them off in a single blow.
Resistance; Like a paladin, he can rely on his sheer strength of will to help shrug off attacks to mind body and soul.
Mettle: Those that he cannot avoid, he tries do bear down and endure, taking the lesser of the worlds woes when he has the chance.
Prestidigitation: Because of the hexblade's calling, Octavius' desire to know more about his arcane abilities manifests itself beyond the ability to curse and the he is able to cast minor prestidigitations at will.
(Item) familiar: Where most would bond to a creature from elsewhere for more power, he has strengthened the bond with his sword to a supernatural level.
Aura of unluck: Once per day Octavius can create a baleful aura of misfortune. Any melee or ranged attack made against the hexblade while this aura of unluck is active has a higher miss chance. Activating the aura is a free action, and the aura lasts for a full minute.
Spells: Like a sorcerer, he uses his sheer strength of will to manifest magic in the world. He just severely lacks the dedication most others would possess by this time.
0 Message
0 Dancing lights
0 Mage hand
0 Detect magic
0 Acid splash
0 Distupt undead
1 True strike
1 Shocking grasp
1 Color spray
1 Identify
2 Eagle splendor
2 Flaming sphere
Personality:
Truly Octavius' greatest strength is his overwhelming charisma, wielded as a weapon as much as his sword. He brings it to bear to cow the most stalwart of enemies and draw up the crowds to a screaming frenzy in the arena.
He is a patient man in combat, often letting the others go first before he devastates them.
He had devoted his life to death, Hades specifically, as a way to deal with the loss of his family. But one can only lash out for so long. In time the burn in his hearth grew cold and hollow so he turned to ways to fill the hole, most often drinking and tavern wenches. But in the end he still fell back to his oldest friend, death. Its more of a bad habit than an addiction, but every week he makes his way to some manner of arena to put himself in the ring.
He's smarter than he ever lets on, by no means is he a genius with lifetimes of knowledge. He's just more experienced that he'd like to be in the way the world works. The best thing he always reminds himself 'always assume they are better than you in every way and plan to fail'.
Relationships:
Since his arrival, he has taken a keen interest in Tinkerhel, She might be a nymphomaniac, but he thinks there is a whole lot more going on in her head.
Backstory:
Octavius' tale is not at twisted as many might think. His parents were simple farmers, his grandfather was a retired army officer who was too maimed to bear spear. When his chores were done for the day, his grandfather would train him in a longsword so big the boy needed both hands to wield it.
Suns rose and set for a decade until the boy on cusp of manhood could now wield the longsword in a single hand. But now he was starting to think with the dagger between his knees and had his eye on the girl across the creek. They were promised to each other and their parents agreed to the union. Sadly, the fates have more in mind than a happy farmer.
A merchant cart heavy with goods came to the farm, asking for a night in the barn for a few silver, all was well until the bandits climbed out of crate and pot to slaughter the family. The boy did well by all accounts, with no armor and only a sword older than him to keep himself safe as he killed the bandit leader while the others ran. As he burned the bodies, he was visited by a lady paladin of Hercule and her ancient wizard. One of his first life lessons about the bigger world would be that halflings and dwarves clearly age differently.
She could see he was strong, strong enough to carry her stuff as his squire as he had nothing left for him here, indeed, he had no other ways to go but with them or try his own. He tried to learn magic cantrips from the wizard but had no luck compared to the combat she refined from what his father gave him. She was teaching him how to fight in armor, a skill he lacked, when they came upon a wizard of the dead.
They made their way to the wizards workshop when they came to discover he was just finishing his ritual to litchdom. The paladin took the undead in a full body tackle while the other two destroyed the phylactery, the wizard found it while Octavius shattered the device but it was too late to save her from its evil magic. The magic of the ritual burned its way into him and changed him to his very core.
Other:
His hat he got from a pirate captain to whom he served upon a ship for a year before a monster afflicted her, her hats own bubble of air was her own undoing.
At one time, he came upon a princess tiara as part of his treasure pull from a successful kidnapping of royalty. In order to dispose of the royal artifact, he had the enchantment transfered to a single jewel worn as a third eye and let them keep the rest of the encrusted property one worn by a queen as payment.
While worn, a third eye conceal protects the wearer from view by all devices, powers, and spells that detect, influence, or read emotions or thoughts. This power protects against all mind-affecting powers and effects as well as information-gathering by clairsentience powers or effects.
Given his propensity for tavern wenches and the like, he was quick to acquire a trinket from the temple of Aphrodite The wearer of this blue gem on a silver chain is immune to disease, including supernatural diseases.
Collected from the skin of a displacer beast, he had its pelt fashioned into his sleeveless longcoat with its powers still within the folds.
Worn inside out to hide its value, he keeps a vest once worn by a pyromancer who was dumb enough to think his innerfire was more powerful than a white dragon. Octavius managed to convince the dragon that the vest would melt the beasts home so he would take it far away while the dragon ate the former wizard for lunch.
Collected from a gnome adventuring party, he managed to run three through on his blade but only kept the one treasure.
1) Mount
2) Slumber
3) Phantasmal Killer
A most useful glove he keeps on hand, it once belonged to an assassin who would use it to bring all manner of gear in a backpack hidden in the stitching. When not used to hide his sword from public eye, he is often known to put his hand into a bucket full (20 pints/2.5 gallons) of holy water and secure it away for dealing with fiery or unholy creatures.
Two small but simple rings in his line of work,
A dwarven ring warded to protect the wearer from evil is actually a good choice when traveling with evil on a daily basis.
As powerful as a ring of invisibility, but far better for him as it makes eight more of him appear rather than make him vanish.
Made from the hide of a Steel dragon parading around as a priestess to Athena, she was fought and slain on her monthly hunt while she was fat and full of a heard of sheep they had left for her as an ambush. When crafted into armor, he had the choice to make the leather immune to acid or protect the wearer from poison, he took the poison protection. In truth it protects him as a full suit of armor as strong as platemail but glamored to be debatable levels of leather and hide piecemeal to suit his ego.
A prize from the arenas, once worn by a master of unarmed combat, this rope belt keeps him far more flexible than he ever could be without it.
Acquired from a fellow raider, a barbarian far from home who could outrun almost anything but a cup of envenomed wine.
These boots let him move faster than normal for moments at a time, acting as a blur when speed was needed over power.
Tattoo:
Psychoactive skin:
Morningstar
An lesser weapon best put to use when three feet of steel isn't recommended. He really hopes to replace it with a mace of disruption soon enough.
Shield
There are times when running around half naked with a greatsword isn't the best plans. When he has to play the defensive position, he uses a heavy shield with a depiction of Gaia upon it as she is of the earth as is hades.
Throwing Axe
When he needs to reach out and touch someone. He is also known to take a moment for himself to relax with all manner of pungent herb or alchemical paste into the bowl on the back.
His gift from beyond. Once, when he was a much younger lad, he traveled as a squire under a paladin of Hercules and her elderly wizard friend into the keep of a vile necromancer. Unfortunately there is a big difference between necromancer and a newly formed litch! Thinking quickly, the paladin took her bag of holding and threw it over them both to pop it away into a pocket realm for just a few seconds as the squire smashed the Phylactery on the work table. The litch turned to dust within the bag and the paladin sacrificed herself for the greater good. Octavius had an idea. He had the wizard use his magic to transmute the holy cold-iron plate-mail of the paladin to the litch dust and he had a greatsword forged from the coldiron dust.
This weapon is a Bane of the undead both solid and ghostly. Its supernaturally keen edge can store the simplest of enchantments within its Damascus folds for release at his will.
Why would a worshiper of the god of death have such enmity to the undead? To KEEP them in Tartarus where they belong!
Recently, he came upon a Devil who had a gift for Octavius. It seems the litch he had defeated so long ago had tried to use the phylactery as a bypass from the devils due. If the litch had succeeded it would have been most embarrassing and bad for business. So out of gratitude he offered the man one gift on credit, not the usual freebie sort of thing but the 'finders fee' of a wayward soul.
Thinking about it, he could easily wish to be the most or the best or the richest... but he had seen how that can bite you in the ass with previous people so he chose to keep it smaller, something he could live without; an extra enchantment on his blade. The two bickered back and forth on the who or what to be done but Octavius was rather stringent on not asking for too much, lest he rely on it too far.
In the end he got an idea from an assassin he used to know and had a small ruby inset into the pommel of his sword. This ruby would trap the soul of every victim of his sword for later that he could bring back to the devil for more credit. So far, Octavius cant find a problem with the deal and that bothers him. |
9,450 | 268 | 9 | 2,751 | 60 | Come, come, we're already late, we don't want to miss out, do we? Shukra shook his head, and double the pace of his march. Already below him, the massacre had begun, much to his annoyance. With that, he and the fifty orc warriors he had brought from his force marched down the hill, the men already breaking up into smaller units. It was a work of art, no orders given to make the savages do as he wanted. They'd been trained well.
The orcs, in their patchwork iron and fur armor, had assembled into three units: One of ten, one of twenty, and second of ten. Shukra did not even glance behind him to make sure everyone was where they needed to be. He knew that they were. "Team C, go to the fields and secure the crops. Anyone fucks with them, take it as a personal insult. Go." With a quick "Yes, sir!" the ten orcs jogged off, pots and baskets in hand. "Team B, secure survivors. Any and all that do not raise a hand to you are to be gathered in the courtyard, preferably unharmed. Go." The team of twenty left with even less fuss, though many were likely miffed about not being able to kill like they wished. Finally, he and his team headed towards the northern side of the village. "Ready your bows, boys. You'll be killing any who try to escape. And do try not to miss. I'd rather that archery training have not been wasted." The final team departed, leaving Shukra to stand just outside the village.
Clearing his throat and using a little magic, he shouted into the sky, voice amplified so that all around could hear him. "Good people of this village, cease your struggle! The time has come to rid yourself of your shackles, to become men of your own! Surrender yourselves to the orcs, and claim your allegiance to them! All under their protection will be under my protection! You will become mine, and I will keep you safe from the horrors that now threaten to slaughter your men and rape your women!"
With that, he began to stroll through the little village, to "save" all that he could. Life under him was better than no life that all. | Name: Shukra
Gender: Male
Race: Rakshasa
Physical Form: Standing at a proud seven feet even, Shukra is a monster to behold, with flowing black fur the color of ash with stripes that glow like flames. His eyes glow the orange of fire, and his maw is filled with razor sharp teeth like his tiger cousins. Each finger is tipped with a razor sharp claw, and a long tail swishes behind him. Few have survived the attempt of touching it. Adorning his body is a suit of ancestral armor, worn by the honor guard of the ancient Rakshasa emperors, made of an unknown metal and inlaid with gold. Aga, his sword, lays on his hip, made of the same metal as his armor and covered in a runes that glow like embers.
Skills/Abilities
Voice of the Emperor - A gentle reminder that he is your better. Every word he says will influence the thoughts of the weak willed and unintelligent towards what he wants.
Breath of the Dragon - Fire is his ally, and so he has garnered an immunity to its effects, and can manipulate natural fires or create his own through magic.
Strength of the Tiger - He is naturally tougher and stronger than most other races, and has, at one point, torn an orc chieftain in half with his bare hands.
Speed of the Snake - While he is not the fastest man to live, he can outrun any human with ease, and his reflexes are far superior to most others.
Blade of the East - He is a good swordsman, but by no means the best.
Personality: Shukra is confident that he, because of his race, if not himself as a person, is superior to all others, especially others. As such, he will rarely give the time of day to others he sees as below him, and those that he has managed to come to terms with as them being his equal, he will at least attempt to be civil with them, in his own special way as an ass. The rare occasion he'll find someone who has proven themself to be his superior, he's found an unnatural and unhealthy obsession with being under their service. Up until the point where he's confident enough to kill them and take their place, but with the current Dungeon Master, he is unsure of his ability to do so. However, he does have a soft spots for his servants, and gets legitimately enraged when he finds out his lackeys have been killed.
Wants/Needs: Shukra wants one thing: To restore the glory of the Rakshasa, even if he is the only one left. Land, subjects, and cities to lord over are what he wants, for those that are lesser than him to submit and become become his, one way or another. That, and to become strong enough to deserve the title of King.
Backstory: In the jungles to the east, there are stories of the rakshasas, demonic tiger men that lorded over lesser races. They were brought down by great heroes, or sealed away by powerful mages. But, there were some that managed to escape persecution by their servants and peasants. Shukra, once a steward and guard to a more powerful rakshasa. He escaped, and went into a dormant state. However, he was recently awakened by a clan of orcs, deep underground. Shukra is unsure of how he got there, but after slaying the chieftain of the orcs, he took command of their clan and drove them to the surface, forcing them to become strong, smart, cunning. He's lead them close to the surface, where others of their kind and other degenerates forced underground by the humans to hide and cower have gathered. That is where he shall begin his ascent, and return to glory.
Other: His sword, Aga, is made of an unknown metal and covered in red runes that glow like embers. Because of the magic in these runes, the sword is impervious to rust, will never dull, and will never dent, and is immune to all but the strongest of magics. He also has a clan of orcs under his command, which is convenient at times.
The Vorhaas Clan |
9,451 | 268 | 10 | 740 | 392 | That Which Consumes Peace suddenly appears beside Shukra, walking beside the Rakshasa. "I'm going to borrow a few of your orcs, hope you don't mind", the demon says with a shit-eating smile, knowing full well that the other villain has no choice in the matter.
That whispers in about 4 orcs' minds from Team B. Soon they are following him, eager to kill. Orcs are not very strong willed. That Which Consumes Peace and the Orcs gather near the burning temple, which the two Clerics are approaching cautiously. That again whisper in the orcs' ears and they begin to charge the two clerics. The clerics turn, and quickly cast a few holy fireballs, dispatching the orcs.
However, during the charge, That had teleported behind the two holy men, and now swings his axe, cutting one in half and crippling the other. Quickly, the demon chops off both of the living cleric's hands and rips out his tongue, but keeps the holy man alive. You can never be too safe. | Name: Emily Kabal, Spirit's Sonnet
Physical Form: Innoculious and cute, Emily is in every way a young human girl that draws little attention and can go wherever she wants to without anyone becoming sucpicious, and anyone who does think to stop Emily gets such a heart melting smile they can't help but let her go on. She has no physical Tell to inform a person there is more than meets the eye, and she wears casual peasant garb which further enhances her ability to slip in wherever and whenever she wants.
Abilities: Magic is Emily's forte, and she fortes brilliantly. There are few human warlocks who could compete with Emily by herself, and she is assisted in her magical talent by four Sung Spirits - a special branch of spirit that can only be summoned by singing, rather than ritual - which pushes her magical prowess far beyond what any mortal could ever dream of. The three spirits she hosts are Storm, Earth and Fire, with an Overseer spirit that watches the other three and posesses talent in their schools. Most of her spells are generic, if powerfully utalized, but the one unique spell she posesses is Empyrean; The Fire King's Crown. It does not exist in this dimension the same way that the rest of her magic does, and so she needs help from her Fire spirit and the Overseer to conjuer it. She creates the physical shell while her spirits fill it with the fire itself. Once that is done, Empyrean; The Fire King's Crown can be used in two differen manners. The first is a singular target, which upon impact incinrates them internally and externally at the same moment, making it effective even against armour or barriers - something to note is that if the target can absorb heat and fire, then they are super-charged by it rather than burned to a cinder. The second is a wide spread attack that causes an extremely hot fire to voraciously spread through the surrounding area, engulfing a small village in moments. The strain, both physically and magically, is considerable so it is not often used. Another rather personal, but not unique, ability is how Emily can use her fire as a sort of Afterburner, and fly through the sky. This is not very subtle, and causes her magics to drain at a constant rate, so she does not use it lightly. The third uncommon ability is her teleporting from Fire to Fire. This requires a pillar of flame to engulf Emily, and then a second Pillar of flame to drop her off. The disadvantage is that it causes disorientation and the second pillar can sometimes not be available.
Aside from magical abilities Emily can - obviously - sing very well, and enjoys simply singing for the thrill of it. She puts this to use summoning her spirits, most commonly Blanks which can posess weak-willed humans or recently dead cadavers and provide Emily with feedback and obidience. With slightly more effort, Emily can bind elemental spirits to herself - or though currently she is at her limit and wants to give her body time to adjust before getting more - and also to beings like Wolves, and Badgers, and Sheep. And humans, but they are usually not so cool and not so plentiful. Emily has a sharp mind as well, able to create a plan in a few moments and chain together her three magical elements, creating a combo that is able to take out massive creatures, well confident of their own abilities before they came face to face with this young girl. Physically, she is of a standard teenagers strength and durability, so she avoids close combat.
A final, and rather unknown power, is Emily's ability to percieve Magic. When it is being used, how much, and also the strength of the person she is looking at. This gives her a clear advantage over other magic users, since it allows her to see what theyr are about to use, and work around it. This technique turns her eyes pure gold, and drains her power at a constant rate, so extended useage is unadvisable.
Wants/Needs: While Emily is happy serving Master in every way, she does have a long-term goal to summon and bind Spitfire, The Fire King, Nike, The Earth King, and Minami, the Storm King.
Relationships: Other than her devotion to the Master, Emily fits in well with all kind of Spirits, so she is often found in the company of Umbra and Narza.
Backstory: Emily is a Homonculus, an artifically created Human, and the first sucess in a string of failures that created useless, deformed monstrosities. She was created with magical power in mind, so the creation process sacrificed the strength most artificals could posess in return for a much deeper magical pool. Some think that she does not have a soul because she was created, but that is a falicy, since even Homonculi need souls to exist. She was pushed, magically, to increase her power, and get stronger until a point where she could handle Sung Spirits inhabiting her. She summoned her first, a spirit of Fire, and after a few months of training and control, summoned even more spirits until she had the total of four she has now.
Other: ((Anything else that you want to mention?)) |
9,452 | 268 | 11 | 268 | 1,389 | As the man was reading, Umbra found a suit of armor and a large broad sword hanging on the wall inside of the library and decided that his best option was to possess the suit. It was clean and well made, but completely untouched showing clear signs that the man who owned cared more about boasting a collection that battling with it. “Much easier to rid of a man who can’t fight back” Umbra mumbled.
When he took his first step in the suit of armor it was quickly overshadowed by the loud sound of a window breaking downstairs. A small fight and what seemed to be screaming occurred and the creature who caused it was unwilling to waste any time, and rushed into the library. Presumably to accomplish the same goal as him. He was quickly proven right when heard the voice of Clotho calling his name. “And here I thought I'd have all the fun. Are you going to finish this man before the villagers revolt, or do I need to put off the elimination of the clergymen to do your job for you?” She shouted almost to antagonize him.
He walked over in the suit of armor, the man panicking due to Clotho holding a rapier to the man's back. “Yes” he replied blatantly. “But it seems you have accomplished that yourself pretty well.” He continued to walk closer to the man, his eyes rapidly moving back and forth between the walking suit of armor and the bug like creature behind him. “But you forgot to finish the job.” Umbra muttered as he stabbed the man through the chest, and watched as the life slowly began to slip away from him. Once the man had died, Umbra felt that he was finished with the Manor and quickly left the suit of armor, letting it collapse in front of Clotho. | Name
Umbra
Physical Form
Umbra
Umbra has no real physical form, but rather takes control of various objects most often statues, and in rare occasions even people or animals. In order to get around this Umbra does have a human companion that he uses as a temporary body if the situation calls for it.
Christopher
His companion is a small child named Christopher who is around the age of 7 who stands at just under 4’. The child looks like a normal human commoner, and wears nothing but very simple clothing, a plain white t-shirt and light brown pants (both loosely fitted and slightly torn). Christopher looks very unkempt and often appears covered in dirt and grime.
Abilities
Umbra
-Possess:Umbra attempts to take complete control of the person or object for an unlimited amount of time if successful. If the object is inanimate and is unprotected from magical wards then Umbra can possess it with ease. If he is trying to posses something protected by a magical ward or something that is living than it is slightly more difficult, and if the person is strongly willed or if the object in mention is protected by a powerful enough ward than Umbra will become unable to posses said object and will become unable to repossess something for the next twelve hours.
-Inanimate Possession: If Umbra takes control of an inanimate object than he will be able to move around as that object as if it was another living being, only without the physical limitations of a normal human either, granting him as much as four times the physical capabilities of the average human.
-Living Possession: If Umbra takes control of a living being than he is able to interact with people as if he was one. Though this comes with the risk of failure due to the person’s willpower and their own physical limitations, it is often the easiest way for Umbra to get around.
-Trapped in Purgatory: When Umbra is not taking possession of an object or person he is unable to interact with the world of the living or be seen by those who inhabit it.
-Frozen Touch: If Umbra is able to pierce or cut a living thing or object it will immediately begin to freeze until the person or object is completely frozen (It can take upwards of two days to become fully frozen from a minor cut, but a major wound can take as little time as an hour). The only way to prevent this is from fully happening is by cutting off the afflicted wound, using advanced healing magic or any kind of fire based magic to stop the spread.
-Enemy of the light: When Umbra takes possession of a person or object he is unable to walk around or move in direct sunlight or any source of light as strong as sunlight, as well as unable to leave the possessed body because of it (fire lit rooms don’t affect him). If he comes into contact with any form of shade he is able to continue as if he wasn’t in sunlight.
-Personality Disorder: When Umbra takes possession of a living being he will adopt that person’s characteristics and personality completely.
-Flight: When Umbra is not taking possession of a person or object he is able to naturally fly from location to location at immense speeds.
Personality
Umbra
Umbra is often extremely apathetic showing little care for morality or others around him beyond achieving his own goals and surviving. This makes him not inherently evil nor inherently good, but rather someone who will chooses the quickest and cleanest solution to solving a problem.
Christopher
Christopher is extremely outgoing and talkative for a small child. His childlike behavior is often easily noticed, and sometimes will go out of his way to show this to those around him. He is extremely naive and will attempt to befriend anyone or anything he sees. Much like Umbra, over the couple of years Christopher has spent with him he began to lose any concern over morality. Often seeing killing or other despicable activities as normal things that you must do in order to survive.
Wants/Needs
He has two ultimate goals, to find a permanent body of his own, one that doesn’t age, need rest, or get exhausted, and to be able to move freely in the sunlight. He is convinced that “the master” will be able to one day provide this to him or at the very least find him someone who can.
Relationships
Umbra holds a close relationship with Christopher. The small child being the closest thing he could have to his son he began to grow fond of him. Eventually befriending Christopher.
Backstory
Once a wealthy man named Jackson Rider, Umbra lead a life with little care until he found a beautiful woman named Rosana, who promised to marry him if he proved that he wasn’t only wealthy, but brave. Eventually he came to the conclusion the only way to prove this was to defeat a witch outside of the village, and bring back her head to show all of the towns people. As a week passed by he prepared buying weapons, armor, and potions to eventually defeat this witch.
Eventually the time came and he set off on his journey, eventually arriving within two days. The witch though proved much more powerful than he had ever expected. To her, he was nothing but a mere bug waiting to be squashed maybe even less so. Before striking him down she found it more interesting to curse him instead. “A child born without soul to the newly wed wife. A husband to a weeping woman and a child without purpose in life. Forsaken by god and forsaken by man. Simply to prove one's bravery matches his wealth hand to hand.”
It wasn’t long before he arrived home with feelings of failure and confusion. When he went to tell Rosana of his failure, she accepted him saying “an honest man is more virtuous and worthy of being my husband than the bravest of men,” and so they married. It wasn’t long until his wife told him of her pregnancy and the child was born not long after and was named Christopher. Sadly much like the witch had told him long ago his child was born without a soul.
That day he journeyed to the witches hut, leaving behind both his wife and child. He begged and cried for forgiveness. For the witch to lift the curse on his son. She smiled wickedly and whispered. “Death will be both your salvation and your punishment.” She quickly pulled out a dagger and stabbed Umbra through the chest, whispering a chant.
When he finally awoke he was greeted by the witch. “You are no longer man nor are you demon, simply Umbra taker of lives. Forced to walk in the shoes of others and the shadows of the night. Enjoy your son’s soul for yours.”
After many years after that day, how many exactly is unknown to him, he slowly began to desire what he once lost many years ago. Eventually he stumbled upon the dungeon keeper. Sensing his power and strength he decided it would be best to seek his help. They eventually they came to a compromise, if Umbra helps him achieve his goals he will one day return the favor.
Other
-If Umbra is in the body of a living person and said living person suffers a fatal wound Umbra will not die, but rather he would suffer a great amount of pain and will be unable to possess a body for a great deal of time (usually around a couple of weeks).
-There is no real way to permanently ‘kill’ Umbra, rather you can banish him to another plane of existence. While this can be accomplished through powerful spells or other magical means, the easiest way to do this would be to destroy his possessed body completely before the possessed can die. (Note: He can technically leave the possessed body at anytime so this would be best accomplished if he was under direct sunlight, or if it was by surprise.) |
9,453 | 268 | 12 | 1,512 | 202 | Narza was enjoying floating around as a sinister fog of death, but taking souls from living bodies was still more more tiring than taking from the dead. Unfortunately, using elemental magic to both kill as well as maintain the fog would be too taxing. I need something to hide within, a body... Narza thinks to herself, looking around. Her choices were rather poor. Big tough burly men, homely women, bawling children, and a score of orcs, all running to an fro. Nothing especially strong, interesting, or beautiful for the taking.
One fireball later and a toddler runs out of the a burning hut, crying his eyes out. It was a cute little boy, with short curly brown hair and preciously soft-looking white skin. "You're a cute one, what's your name?" Narza asks reassuringly as she surrounds the boy. To the toddler, it was as if night had suddenly fallen, the sounds of the battle muted and distant through the fog. He looks around curiously, searching for the sound of the voice. "Ugh, answer faster next time." Narza grumbles, tired of waiting for a response. She tears the toddler's soul free and absorbs it, finding the little boy's name through the haze of memories. Max, huh?
When the fog clears, the toddler stood perfectly, unnaturally straight, his eyeballs rolling around his head before settling. Been a while since I had a body, Narza thinks happily as she stretches out her soft toddler arms and legs. Suddenly, she's thrown forward onto a jagged piece of wood, spearing her squishy toddler stomach through. "Stupid brat shoulda gott'n outa mah way!" Growls a panicking farmer as he runs from an orc. Still impaled, Narza narrows her eyes at the man and freezes his feet in a block ice. "I just got this body! My first body for almost a year! I was killed, held in a cage, unable to move, for months! And just moments after I'm able to feel anything, you get it killed?" Narza rants, spittle flying out the mouth of the small toddler. The man falls on his face, luckily happening to dodge the orc's swing in the process. She clenches her fist and makes a yanking motion, dragging the man in front of her by the ice binding his legs. He screams and claws at the dirt uselessly as the orc watches in confusion. With wrenching squelch, Narza rips her body off the piece of wood and stands upright with the aid of air magic, her intestines still wrapped around the piece of wood. She walks up in front of the man, her intestines dragging along the dirt, slowly pulled out of the gash in her abdomen.
"See how it FEELS!!" Narza screams, ripping the boy's vocal cords. The man simply stares in abject terror as Narza rips the toddler's arms and legs off with magic in front of him, spraying his front in blood. Focusing on Derrik's soul for the bit of knowledge she wanted, Narza rips the man's soul free and places it within the toddler instead, inhabiting the man's body in the process. The man, now suddenly finding himself within a mutilated torso on the ground, writhes in agony, screaming the best he could through torn vocal cords. Narza laughs heartily, her laughter now rumbling and gruff from within the man's body. She focuses mana above the man's new body and forms it into dozens of thin icicles that pierce the torso. Satisfied, she devours the man's soul and moves on, killing the still confused orc with an icicle through the eye and eating that soul as well.
One twisted little girl, 89 insane humans, 1 orc, 3 Elementals, Derrik the dark mage | Name: Narza (unable to remember her last name)
Physical Form:
Chimeric Specter
Narza is an amalgamation of a wide variety of souls, brought about by a somewhat mediocre dark mage named Derrik. The dark mage combined, a few dozen tormented human souls, the soul of an innocent young human girl, freshly killed to serve as the catalyst, and three different Elementals, one of Wind, one of Water, and one of Darkness. Dreaming of power and infamy, Derrik aimed to create a fearsome tri-element familiar and make his familiar’s personality more easily controlled by using a young girl’s soul as the base. While the dark mage succeeded in fusing the souls, one of his more mediocre points showed in his binding abilities.
The chimeric spirit broke free and consumed the dark mage the split-second after it was born. Because the chimeric spirit hadn’t settled and solidified, it ended up absorbing the dark mage into its core, giving it some of the abilities of the dark mage as well. A battle for dominance over the soul ensued. The dark mage, already weakened by the fusion process, was unanimously dealt with by the other souls. The elementals fell next, overwhelmed by the many insane human souls. With the elementals gone, the tormented souls fell upon each other, tearing each other apart in mindless agony. In the end, only the soul of the young girl, added most recently (aside from the dark mage), was left intact. Her name was Narza.
Magic and Abilities:
Invisibility (turn invisible, simple for a ghost)
Incorporeal Form (she actually can’t touch things if she tried, currently)
Soul Steal (steal a target’s soul, works better on weaker and weakened targets)
Devour soul (grow stronger by consuming a soul, stronger souls are more difficult to consume but are worth more. Slightly increases her magical power.)
Possess Husk(take control of a soulless body. Allows Narza to take a physical form and use that body’s magic at a fraction of its strength. She can’t preserve its health until stronger.)
Elemental Affinity for Water/Ice
Elemental Affinity for Wind/Air
Flight (ghosts can naturally fly)
Resistant to poison (How would you poison a ghost?)
Soul Sense (Sense souls around Narza, souls have to be sensed before they can be interacted with afterall)
Soul Replacement (put a soul back into a soulless body.)
Locked: (until more souls are eaten and she grows stronger)
Soul Scour (rip apart a soul for information. Narza can learn a magic if she rips apart enough souls that know that magic. Also aids in digestion.)
Corporeal Form (become solid, taking any appearance)
Elemental Affinity for Darkness
Soul Fusion (combine stolen souls.)
Lightning (subtype of Wind/Air)
Weaknesses:
Fire/Heat
Earth
Holy/Light Magic
Sanctified ground/equipment
Holy Water (somewhat nullified by Water/Ice Affinity)
Due to Narza’s Wind/Water/Darkness affinity and spirit body, she’s doubly vulnerable to light and heat. She also can’t pass through the ground like normal ghosts until she’s stronger. Additionally, Narza cannot learn any magic of opposing elements. Has no skill with weapons.
Personality: Innocent, naive, and terribly hateful. Has the personality of a young girl, the ambition of a failed dark mage, and the hatred and anger of many dozens of tormented souls. As a former twelve-year old, Narza little knowledge of the world save for the bits absorbed from her shredded inhabitants, but is curious and sharp. She’s also spiteful and mischievous, with little moral direction even without factoring in the dark mage in her. When the malice of the tormented souls wrests free of her control as they will from time to time, she’ll seemingly lose her temper without warning. Occasionally, she will ask you for your soul out of the blue when her hunger gets to be too much.
Wants/Needs: Souls, especially magical ones or those of mages.
Relationships: Likes to hang out with fellow spirits such as Narza and Umbra.
Backstory: The dark mage Narza consumed left behind a slight sense of loyalty and responsibility to the Dungeon Keeper, so she asked to serve as well, and was accepted. She has inherited the Derrik's possessions, which are:
Basic clothing: Musty dark mage robes, all black and nefarious-looking. And smelling. Narza wouldn't wear them even if she could. (Not that she floats around naked, mind you. She wears what she wore when she died (but will be able to change that later.))
Basic alchemy set
Alchemy ingredient shelf, poorly stocked (previous owner wasn't big on alchemy)
Ritual circle, high-class but defective (Since Narza was able to break free)
Enchanted storage ring, low level, holding dust, empty alchemy flasks, and dirty clothing (has a capacity space of two square meters)
Basic elemental spell tomes: A beginner's guide to Fire Magic, A beginner's guide to Water Magic, A beginner's guide to Wind Magic, A beginner's guide to Earth Magic, A beginner's guide to Dark Magic (laying in a disorderly pile on the floor.)
Arlog's Thesis on soul-binding - Abridged version (another tome
Binding and Sealing - All you need to take a Familiar (Well leafed magic tome, and frozen solid)
Enchanted dagger, for rituals and self-defense. (Never dulls, and is sharper and tougher than normal. Holds a sinister miasma since it has been immersed in dark magic and taken the lives of many innocents in cold blood. Nothing special though.)
Scrying orb of low quality (See distant locations, but only from far away, or a specific location, but must have been there before.)
Staff of Darkness (An enchanted length of wood that make using dark magic slightly easier. Even a level One mage would start with better gear than this.
Mana-recovery trinkets (Barely worth wearing, and also too gaudy.)
Various spell books (all shelved, that Narza can't get to yet since she isn't corporeal. )
Enchanted treasure chest (enchanted to resist weather effects and only open to the owner, holding a mix of souls from different races)
Other: Would be classified as an Assassin/Mage I suppose. Will do anything for a soul. |
9,454 | 268 | 13 | 2,049 | 6,923 | What the hell is happening! "Where did they come from?!" "Is this the end of the world!?" "Why have the gods forsaken us!?" These were the hushed whispers that filled the air of the town's windmill. Apparently a good deal of the village's population, maybe two dozen families or more, had decided to take refuge in the large stone structure after the raid had began. They had managed to construct a makeshift barricade for the door out of what seemed to be whatever they found in the mill, random pieces of loose wood, heavy sacks of grain, etc. About five men were pressed up against the barricade for good measure. The fear and silent panic was so thick in the air of that room one could practically cut it with a knife. "Mommy, a-are we going to be okay?" A young girl, who couldn't of been more than nine years old, asked the question that was on everybody's mind, but were too scared to ask.
"Well that would all depend on your definition of okay, sweetheart." A disturbingly calm voice answered from seemingly no where. With a gasp the occupants of the makeshift shelter looked up to find the sight of a crimson haired gentleman nonchalantly sitting among the rafters. "Though by mine that would be a unmistakable no." He said with a light hearted chuckle, causing more of a stir among the villagers.
"W-Who are you?" A older looking fellow said as he stepped forward among the group, a woman that must of been around the man's age standing close behind him. "Oh my name isn't all that important. What is however is the fact that I am offering you lucky folks salvation from the brutal death that awaits you all out side of the windmill." The deathly pale man said with a sly smile. A moment later the man vanished before reappearing in front of the crowd. "As you all can tell things are not going so well for your neighbors outside." He said, just in time for the sound of some poor soul to call out a blood curdling death screech.
The mass of people all herded together, more than a bit wary of the randomly appearing fellow. "What... how could you help us?" The same older man from before asked, prompting a chuckle out of the dark clothes cladded gentleman. "Well despite what you might think of my less than impressive appearance I am actually a quite powerful being." The red head said as he took a step forward. "I can guarantee that each and everyone of you will not only survive this day, but will go onto live meaningful productive lives." He said with another step. "All it will take is a simple deal."
"What deal?" The elderly man asked, holding the woman, who was behind him before, close to him. "Oh it is nothing really, I just want one little thing from each of you.." Just then the booming voice that just dripped evil rang out demanding the surrender of each and every villager in the town. "Ohhh he defiantly doesn't sound happy." The man said with a chuckle before looking back the crowd, who were now all at a even higher level of panic. "We will take the deal!" The elderly man snapped quickly, a look of pure desperation in his eyes. "Perfect." The fiery haired man said before snapping his fingers.
It wasn't even a moment later that the crowd was out of the village and in the woods. The celebration that fallowed was quickly cut short by the realization that they were all shackled together. "What- WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!" The old man bellowed, looking at the red haired man in pure rage. "Oh it is just part of the deal, you all won't die in the village attack and get to live long productive lives... as prisoners, servants, test subjects, and whatever else me and my associates may need. Oh and just to give you a heads up, I may kind of own your souls." The man said with a chuckle. The crowed looked upon him in horror. "Y-You. Monster!" The old man yelled, only to get a smirk as a response. "Actually you mean demon, now shall we be off? The cave holding cells are calling and all."
As the group all argued and raged the red haired man simply chuckled and shook his head. "Almost too easy." He said as he began to lead the group. As lack luster as this may have seemed compared to the destruction of village, the capturing of so many live people was a perfect use of a demon's skills, even more so if that demon is one Azavarn, lord of the deal. | "I'm the daringest devil you ever met, love."
Name
Azavarn, The King Of The Crossroads, Lord Of The Deal
Physical Form
Azavarn is rather human looking for a demon. He stands at 6'4" in height and has a lean, muscular body build. He has long crimson hair that hangs down to the back of his neck and a beard of the same color that runs along his jawline. The only things that breaks the illusion of Azavarn's humanity would be his skin, it being ash grey, as well as his eyes which are a deep blood red and give off a faint glow. He wears a series of pitch black clothes, such as his leather trench coat, black combat boots, and his wide brim hat.
Abilities
"I Just Make It Look Easy."
Azavarn's physical abilities are far sharper than those of a normal mortal's. He moves so fast that he appears like a mere blur of movement. He is so agile and dexterous that he can grab an arrow out of the air and throw it back at its original shooter. He can preform flips, dodges, jumps, and other maneuvers that would put the most talented acrobats to shame.
"I Don't Miss, Darling."
Azavarn is a marksman with no compare, his accuracy is beyond that of mortal men. He can pin a fly to a tree with a single arrow from three-hundred yards away without killing it. He can draw and fire arrows with such speed that he seems like a one man firing squad. His mindboggling marksman skills are not limited to just a bow and arrow, from knives to or pistol if it can be thrown or fired Azavarn will assure it will hit its mark. He has quite recently throwing cards, they are quite good at giving Azavarn the cutting edge.
"Now You See Me, Now You're Dead."
Azavarn is able to step into one of the many passage ways into the hellish Netherworld and use them to transport himself across the mortal world, to others it will appear that he teleports.
"It Is A Bit Cramped In Here."
Azavarn has the ability to possess the bodies of those with a weaker will or those who have sold their soul, completely controlling them. Those with a stronger will can fight back, though it will be incredibly painful for them to try and force Azavarn out. Azavarn can be exorcised with the proper holy items and rituals.
"Lets Make A Deal."
Does a mortal want to be the best sword fighter in their backwater village? No problem. Do they want to be the most breath taking maiden in all the land? Done. Or maybe they want to be so rich that they sleep on a bed of gold? Easy. All of this can be done with a simple deal with Azavarn, and all he would ask for in exchange for is one itty bitty soul. Once a deal is struck there is no going back on it and that soul belongs to Azavarn for the rest of time, or he decides to release it to whomever he sees fit.
Personality
Do you know that no good, snake in the grass that swindled every coin in his pocket away from someone else and would sell there own grandmother if it meant they would get them a good stiff drink? Yeah Azavarn is the guy that taught that guy everything he knew. This demon has a tongue of pure silver, being able to talk the purest angels into sin. The majority of what comes out of Azavarn's mouth is either a sarcastic remark or a incredibly charming lie. He keeps his cool all the time, regardless if he is making a deal with a mortal or if he is in the heat of battle Azavarn keeps the same sly confidence. This demon can be described as the perfect businessman, getting a man to sign away the souls of his whole family for a sack of potatoes. Azavarn has a black heart, caring for nothing and no one save for himself. The way he sees it others are resources to be used to obtain his goals.
Wants/Needs
Azavarn just wants his right to steal, gamble, trick, torture, and kill his little black guts out back. Let him run his business and you will have a happy little demon on your hands.
Relationships
Who do you think coordinates all those demons making deals with so many mortals? Someone has to be in charge and hold all those souls and Azavarn just so happens to be the right kind of clever, evil bastard for the job. Azavarn runs the whole network of crossroad demons that spread across the land, he knows each and every soul that has been sold, stolen, or given away.
Backstory
"You want to know my story? Well pull up a chair, it is story time kiddos! Where do I begin? Hmmm a yes! Once upon a time there was a stunningly handsome demon. He was a master of his trade, helping poor poor mortals get the lives the always dreamed of and asking for so little in return, just their soul. This demon was so great at his job that he was dubbed, The King Of The Crossroads. Things were perfect for the king for a long time, countless amounts of souls coming in, but that all changed when the horrid age of "peace" began. Demon after demon were killed, deals came to a near halt, and the King had to go into hidings. That was about a thousand years ago and now the King is on the rise again, he has been getting more and more deals, more and more demons working for him, and more and more souls. It is only a matter of time before he is on top again! Now what will it take for me to get my hands on that pretty little soul of yours?"
Other
Azavarn is at home in the tavern, it being the perfect place for his work. With the ale flowing and egos boasting making a deal is child's play. It also helps to be so damn good looking and able to drink enough grog and ale that could kill the drunkest of orcs. |
9,455 | 268 | 14 | 2,360 | 668 | Kor clenched his sword and prepared for battle as the two clerics stormed the temple. Under normal circumstances, he would immediately find a way to retreat; a pair of clerics would be troublesome and time-consuming to deal with, but given the current chaos outside he doubted that they would be getting reinforcements any time soon. Plus, the building on fire. They were men in cloth, he was a monster in armor. It didn't take a genius to figure out who would cook first.
Kor flourished his blade, but then, rather than swinging at the clerics he slashed at one of the long, burning curtains hanging from the wall. He caught the top as it fell, and after a couple of twirls of his wrist he was holding a burning whip. He walked slowly towards the clerics, letting the burning end of the curtain drag along the ground, setting the carpet and wooden benches on fire. He advanced with the flames as the clerics backed away, pointing the staves at the Darkwraith. Then one of the clerics decided to begin uttering a prayer to fight back. As soon as Kor saw the man's lip twitch he swatted at him with the curtain. Reflexively the cleric went to block with his staff, and were it a normal whip the two would have been deadlocked, but this whip was on fire, and a good amount of his staff was made of wood. Kor gave a sinister grin beneath his mask as the staff caught fire and the cleric was forced to abandon his weapon.
The second cleric was no fool though and took the opportunity to attack. He channeled a spell into his staff and lunged with a purifying strike that would annihilate any undead flesh or demonic items on contact. Kor simply raised his blade and blocked the strike. It was a shame; this cleric could have gone far as a demon slayer with that kind of power and perhaps would have become a worthy opponent for the Darkwraith one day. But alas, Kor's sword and armor were both demonic only in appearance. The more-or-less ordinary metal did not react to the spell, and Kor could easily brace himself against a single strike. He did feel a numbness rushing through his arm for being in proximity to such magic, but that could easily be dealt with. He let go of the curtain and threw what appeared to be a left hook at the cleric. Suddenly, there was a blade of tangible darkness in his hand, and then the blade was in the cleric's neck. One down, one to go.
The first cleric would not back down despite losing his weapon. Instead, he took up a fighter's stance and prepared to face the Darkwaith with unarmed combat, his fists glowing with holy energy. Kor advanced on this opponent, blade of metal in his right hand, blade of darkness in his left. The cleric was getting exhausted from the heat now and knew he would have to finish this monster fast. He dashed forward, ducking under a sword swing and put all of his holy energy into a mighty punch that would punch right through the Darkwraith's armor and tear a hole through his wretched, heartless chest. However, where the cleric expected there to be a blade, there was now a rippling, black shield. His hand struck a solid surface of an indescribable texture, and then all the cleric could do was pray.
Holy men were delicious, no doubt, but they were indeed a pain in the ass. If that punch had hit him directly it would have dealt some serious damage to him. What saved Kor was the simple fact that he had been fighting longer than this man had been alive. His reflexes were quicker, his muscles stronger. A searing pain shot through his arm as the cleric's fist struck the Dark Hand, but before the magic could do any real harm, he parried the cleric's blow, leaving him open and off-balance. Once again, the Dark Hand glowed bright red, and Kor snatched the cleric by the neck. It was over. He felt the humanity flood into his body, and this time rather than merely satiating his hunger he was able to indulge with complete lucidity in the joy that was feeding. Kor would let this one live. It would be a shallow husk of a life, but the Master did want some fodder left in tact. This cleric was no longer a threat. He could no longer cast spells or attack in any semblance of an intelligent fashion, but he was still very much alive. Even the soul was still there; it was simply bereft of all humanity. | Name: Darkwraith Kor
Physical Form: The darkwraiths are beings that were once humans, but were twisted to depravity through the temptation of a dark serpent. These beings feast on the souls of their victims, and also on their very humanity. The darkwraiths have a drug-like addiction to humanity and in feasting on it, they drain the sanity from their victims to retain their own. Their skeletal appearance is actually a suit of armor granted to them by the serpent. Beneath it, the a healthy darkwraith looks very much human, but a starved one will have their nature revealed with wrinkled, rotting flesh. Kor stands at about six feet. Beneath his helmet, his face his stern and gaunt, with unkempt black hair and dark brown eyes. He has a muscular build derived from years of hunting down his prey.
Abilities: The Dark Hand- This is the magic weapon granted to all darkwraiths by the serpent. It is a manifestation of the darkness in their souls, and in its idle form appears to be an ethereal orb of blackness with streaks of red squirming about its wielder's hand. The Dark Hand can warp into both a sword and a shield with a complete physical manifestation. Due to the ethereal nature of the Dark Hand, it cannot be broken, but at the same time it will often yield to sturdy materials.
Lifedrain- The most feared of the darkwraith's abilities. The user channels his hunger into his Dark Hand and lunges at a victim. Upon contact, he drains the victim of his humanity. This does no physical damage to the target, but destroys its sanity, turning it into a soul-starved creature that will attack friend and foe alike. This ability does not work on those that are already corrupted or depraved, but on those that are valiant and righteous.
Abysswalker- In this world, there exist magics, indeed entire planes, forged from darkness itself. The darkwraiths are one of the few beings that thrive in such darkness. They are immune to the effects of darkness-based magic and can freely navigate through any realms made of darkness.
Red Eye Orb- A blood-red orb with a menacing eye carved into it. This orb seeks out the pure of heart, and once a target is located the orb will begin to pulsate. Once the target has been located, no amount of walls or barricades can stop a Darkwraith. They can use the Red Eye Orb to transport them to the general vicinity of the target. This comes with great risk, though. The orb does not reveal who the target is or what defenses are established, and it will only bring them withing 100 feet of the target. The darkwraith may be stepping into his own doom.
The Dark Sword- The melee weapon of choice for darkwraiths. The Dark Sword is a straight sword with a thick, wide, blade. The additional mass makes it good for staggering heavily armored foes. Though heavy, Kor can wield this blade masterfully, preferring to unleash a flurry of quick strikes rather than large single strikes.
Ring of the Evil Eye- Legend has it the this ring contains the spirit of a terrible monster that assaulted the lands long ago. Now, the power of this beast's cruelty is channeled into the bearer. With every slain foe, some of the wearer's energy is restored, and light wounds begin to heal.
Personality: In a word, voracious. Where others look at a battle and see terror and carnage, glory and honor, Kor sees a king's feast. These peaceful times have left Kor anxious and irritable from his hunger, but once his appetite becomes satiated he becomes as morbidly jovial as the next minion of darkness celebrating his victory.
Wants/Needs: Kor is driven by a relentless hunger for souls and humanity, but also takes pleasure in the dark. However, Kor is also reasonably intelligent, so any tools that would assist him in his hunt would be seen as an ample reward.
Backstory: Kor was once human, but that is all he remembers of his days before he was a darkwraith. For one reason or another, Kor found himself at the bottom of a pitch-black chasm, unmarked on any maps. He was terrified a first, but then he heard the voice of the serpent. It was a soothing voice, an infallible voice: "You were born from the Dark, why do you fear it?" Kor's pulse slowed and he sat upright. That's right, it was only darkness, there was no reason to be afraid. "Ah, you are not like the others who tremble at the Dark! Come, let me give you this gift, and you can be the savior to usher in a new age!" Naturally, the years of hiding in the shadows merely to sustain his own existence was grueling for Kor. However, when he heard of the new dungeon keeper, the prospect of open combat was appealing, plus he liked the new age that the dungeon keeper wanted to usher in. |
9,456 | 268 | 15 | 351 | 2,364 | It was always nice to at least be taken seriously by some people, and Twich took the time to memorize those few that had at least listened to what he had to say and acknowledged them in return. While the red demon that said he/it was going to go and secure the blacksmith was gone before a reply could be given, the fairy was given a proper nod of the head and a "Good hunting." in return before she zoomed off.
The man that had summoned a pony mount for him was given a lot more consideration then the others, even more so due to his question for potions. After a moment, he removed a small vial that was filled with a dull red liquid from its pouch and threw it over to the human to hopefully catch. "Minor healing potion. Encourages the healing of minor wounds. Not much I know but its the only thing that I have that would be of use to you."
His peace said and his debt repaid, Twich mounted his newly summoned pony and sprang into action by charging down into the village much faster then he would have on foot. The combined actions of his fellow champions efforts was more then enough to ensure that the little kobold was more or less ignored on his trip to the first of the granaries.
Arriving to find the granary more or less intact and somewhat ignored in all the chaos, the kobold got off of his pony in order to make sure everything was in order and that the area was more or less secure. As he was climbed up the ladder to look inside and make sure all was well, he heard the sound of movement down below alongside rallying cries. Turning to look at the source of all the noise, Twich's eyes narrowed a little as he noticed that some of the townsfolk seemed to be trying to organize themselves into some last ditch defense... or maybe an organized attempt at escaping the raiders. Strength and numbers and what not...
Taking advantage of not being seen just yet, Twich removed a vial filled with something black from its pouch on his jacket before lobbing it towards the group. Part skill and part luck, it landed right in the middle of the group...
BOOM
Those at the center of the group (Most likely the leaders that the rest of them were rallying behind) were reduced to a red mist by the explosion. Those far enough away to not die instantly were deafened and harmed by the shockwave of the blast and peppered with the human remains of those who had been closer to the explosion; Bone fragments were nasty things after all. Those who were on the edges of the crowd and this escaped harm completely by distance and the meatshields that were their more unlucky peers turned and fled screaming from the blast, taking their chances on their own in their panic.
Job done in breaking local resistance, Twich turned his attention on making sure the granary was secure and everything was in working order. Once his task was completed, he would crave the symbol of the Dungeon Keeper into the granary door before going down the ladder again and mounting his little pony once more. If he was quick enough, he could get the second granary as well. Supplies were always welcome after all... | Name:
Twich
Physical Form:
Abilities:
Smarter then thou: What Twich lacks in physical strength and size, he makes up for with a cruel cunning, a twisted intellect and a surprisingly strong will.
Alchemist Training: There are only two things that an alchemist needs to be able to do in order to be a good alchemist; The ability to flip a table and be on the other side of it when what they are working on explodes and the ability to know exactly when to do this. Everything else is just icing on the cake.
If you don't want to eat it just because it has some mold growing on it, hand it over.: Twich is a kobold. They can eat just about anything regardless of how rotten its become just fine without ill effect. They are also immune to horrible smells that would make others sick.
Love the BOOM!: There is something about arson and explosions that just appeals to Twich's soul. The fact that he is very good at creating things that explode and set things on fire makes his inner hatchling very happy.
WHY?! FOR SCIENCE!: Twich doesn't always create or tamper with things to make them explode or catch fire (At least, not as the end goal). Often he likes to create concoctions or perform experiments for a large number of reasons, more often then not because he felt like it or just wants to see if the current theory in his head has any basis in reality.
Personality:
Those who meet Twich would surprisingly discover that he is, above everything else, quite civil. Those above or greater then him will get the recognition that they deserve of course but those of equal and even lower standing will be treated with professional, polite conversation when talking with Twich. They will also quickly discover that he is quite 'mad'; His mind seems to operate on a completely different wavelength then everyone around him and he often views the world far differently from other people as well.
If one really wants to see him in his prime however, all they need to do is suggest a possible alchemy or science experiment within Twich's hearing range. The quest for discovery and knowledge burns within him brighter then the flames of hell themselves; Despite this he has made it quite clear to several demons that have offered him deals for knowledge and alchemist/scientific discoveries in exchange for his soul that he is not interested because 'That was the path of cowards and fools'.
Even the most evil of beings would find the calm, professional and somewhat detracted approach that Twich takes with his experiments rather... unnerving. Almost all of his experiments are performed on live test subjects... often without their knowledge let alone consent.
Wants/Needs: A bigger lab, more resources and freedom to explore with his various fields of science and alchemy. First pick of any group of slaves and captives with no questions asked as to why he wants/needs them. The right to take any student that he wishes.
Relationships: Fairly civil, shows the needed respect to those that require it.
Backstory: Twich was born to the Snakebiter tribe, a kobold tribe that had its tunnels located underneath a somewhat poisonous swamp. Taken to be trained as an alchemist rather early on when he showed he had a knack for it, Twich rather quickly learned everything that his tribe knew about it and found himself consumed by the desire to learn more. At first traveling to other kobold tribes to study, Twich soon found himself learning from many of the other underworld denizens in exchange for his services; At times he even found teachers among the more open minded of the surface dwelling races. When he ran out of teachers who could offer him new knowledge, Twich wasn't satisfied. He needed to know more and that meant he needed to create more things to learn himself.
This is rather challenging as an independent working alone... but with the raise of the Master and his 'Hordes of Darkness', Twich found a patron who could make his dreams and desires a reality in exchange for his services.
Other: - |
9,457 | 268 | 16 | 538 | 2,678 | Athinar acknowledged the little kobold giving orders with only a grunt. He gave a quick thanks to the one that had summoned horses, then mounted one. The animal buckled a little bit beneath the weight of Athinar's massive body, but it would be fine. Already having begun to ride off, he cried, out, "I'll move to secure the barns and granaries."
Without another word, he then rode hard for one of the barns first. Meeting no opposition during the few minutes that it took to get there, he dismounted the summoned horse and then threw the doors open. Stepping inside the barn, he quickly examined the livestock inside. Two dairy cows, a bull, a half dozen goats...but hat was he to do with them? The mighty Athinar was no animal wrangler. He supposed that he would just have to stand guard outside and make sure that the animals didn't go anywhere and that none of the wilder beings on his side burned the barn down.
That was when he heard it: shallow, ragged breaths. A pounding heartbeat. Athinar stepped further into the barn and looked back to see him; a peasant boy had been hiding behind the door the whole time. With a cold grin, Athinar stepped forward and delivered a mighty blow to the screaming boy's head. He wasn't sure if it had been the punch or simply sheer terror that had left the boy unconscious, but it didn't really matter. Athinar dragged the boy's limp but still breathing body into the middle of the barn, where he would be easily seen during the looting that was bound to happen soon.
Then, Athinar left the barn. To his alarm, it seemed like some sort of ragtag militia was forming up nearby, and one or two had torches. Did they mean to burn down their own barns and granaries, to deny the invaders the loot? It didn't matter in any case, as before Athinar could move to break them, half of them were killed in a sudden explosion, while the rest quickly dispersed. Athinar looked over to a nearby granary to see a grinning Twich, the kobold having evidently been the one to throw the bomb. Athinar watched in bemusement for a few more moments, seeing Twich carve the master's emblem upon the granary door. As if that's going to do anything, Athinar thought to himself.
Noticing that some of the scattered militia seemed to be trying to flee the village for their lives, Athinar jumped back onto his horse and moved to intercept them. The master had demanded that none be allowed to escape. | Name: Whatever his real name is, he hasn't told any of his minions. He demands to be called the Overlord, Master, Dungeon Keeper, or simply 'boss'.
Physical Form: He may appear to be just human, a simple warlock, but make no mistake: possessing that frail human body is an ancient and incredibly powerful demon. The demon's unadulterated malevolence is made visible to the eye by the glowing lines and strange symbols that adorn his face, and his crimson eyes that seem to reflect the deepest pits of hell like a lake reflects the moon.
Abilities: The Dungeon Keeper is essentially a demigod; he is aware of everything that happens inside his own dungeon (and with some simple magic he can see what is happening elsewhere), with a flick of his wrist he could incinerate a dozen people, and overall he could match at least five or six of his champions at once, blow for blow. On top of this he is a powerful warlock, capable of performing all manner of black magic, summoning monstrous beasts or brokering deals with other demons.
He has two fatal weaknesses, however: the first is his human form. He is not the sort of demon that is a massive hulk of red flesh; he is stuck within this fragile body, and while he is harder to kill than a normal human he is still an easy target for any that can withstand his might for long enough to retaliate. His second weakness is that all of his power stems from what he refers to as his Dungeon Heart, and so this heart must be protected at all costs. For these two reasons, don't expect to see him fighting much. He'll have his champions doing that sort of dirty work.
Personality: He is ruthless, seemingly without compassion or care for anything. Brutal and valuing effectiveness over all other traits, one of the quickest ways to his good side is to obey his orders and exceed his expectations. He is not much for words, and not terribly approachable either. Still, if one of his minions hatched a devious enough plan, he might at least listen and consider it.
Wants/Needs: He's utterly hellbent upon enslaving the mortal races and conquering the world.
Relationships: Unless listed otherwise, he feels rather neutral towards your character, or hasn't been left with any impression.
Twich - He's watching this one. Twich seems both competent and useful, so the Master likes him.
That Which Consumes Peace - The Dungeon Keeper is rather agitated with him, after the incident with Shukra.
Shukra - Shukra seems rather ballsy and arrogant. Even though the Master took Shukra's side, he still feels that the warlord might need to be put in his place.
Athinar - Bold, and seems like he might be a good leader. While he doesn't necessarily like Athinar, he will humor his request and grant him a few chances to prove himself as a leader.
Backstory: This invasion of his has been years in the planning; for many centuries he writhed in the abyss of the infernal realm, until he finally managed to escape into this world. Then, he lurked in the darkness, always on the run, biding his time until he sensed that the time was right. Now, that time has come, and through various means he's been gathering together a horde of evil the likes of which this world hasn't seen in thousands of years. |
9,458 | 268 | 17 | 1,512 | 202 | Collecting souls was going quite well--aside from a few arrows lodged in the torso of Narza's new body, her vessel was mostly fine, allowing her to kill and collect souls without too much trouble. Her fragile young ghost girl protected from the burning rays of the sun by a sturdy outer human shell, Narza's mind and magic was free to focus on taking down villagers.
She would first trip or slow down a fleeing villager with ice on their legs, then rush up to the prone or crawling villager with the aid of wind magic. Once she was close enough, Narza would finish them off with a small but precise blade of wind to the head or neck, speedily cramming the soul down soon after. Even as she would kill a villager, twice as many more souls would pop around her faster than she could eat even one, as the Dungeon Keeper's servants really got underway.
One soul in particular stood out to her, adjacent to a dimmer, but still unusually bright soul. The pair of souls were on the other side of town, nearby the granaries. Intriguing, they still feel human, but are the brightest souls I've seen yet... Slipping out of the man's body at once and assuming her ghost form, Narza speeds toward the temple in the distance, covering herself in a dense cloud of fog once more to avoid a literal sunburn.
In front of the temple lay two fallen humans, both clearly identifiable as clerics by their iconic white clothing.(I assume anyways.) Disregarding the sinister-looking armored figure that had probably killed the two clerics, Narza billows around the dead cleric's body and eats the much brighter soul hanging around. Delicious! It's a strong taste that beats the other humans for sure, and the holy part makes it a bit... spicy. It's like spicy food. Narza decides as she tears into the cleric's soul.
The other cleric was still alive, but his soul felt different, and not because it was a powerful and holy cleric soul. It didn't seem as lively. This was because Kor had already taken the cleric's humanity, but Narza didn't know that. She envelops the second cleric and rips his soul free as well, savoring the taste this time as she slowly absorbs it. "The divine feeling is so unbearably hot, but that's what makes it good!" Narza exclaims. Her reverie is interrupted by a burst of freed souls appearing a distance away, accompanied by a large explosion sound. The sudden intensity of so many freed souls in one place at once was like a floodlight being switched on and shined upon you while you were calmly enjoying a meal by yourself.
Still carrying half of the cleric's soul, Narza rushes over to the scene of the carnage. If the clerics were like meatballs, small but tasty morsels, the unremarkable villager souls were like bread or pasta. Plain, but hearty and filling. And Narza was still hungry.
1.5 clerics, 95 tormented humans, 1 orc, one twisted little girl, 3 Elementals, and Derrik the dark mage | Name: Narza (unable to remember her last name)
Physical Form:
Chimeric Specter
Narza is an amalgamation of a wide variety of souls, brought about by a somewhat mediocre dark mage named Derrik. The dark mage combined, a few dozen tormented human souls, the soul of an innocent young human girl, freshly killed to serve as the catalyst, and three different Elementals, one of Wind, one of Water, and one of Darkness. Dreaming of power and infamy, Derrik aimed to create a fearsome tri-element familiar and make his familiar’s personality more easily controlled by using a young girl’s soul as the base. While the dark mage succeeded in fusing the souls, one of his more mediocre points showed in his binding abilities.
The chimeric spirit broke free and consumed the dark mage the split-second after it was born. Because the chimeric spirit hadn’t settled and solidified, it ended up absorbing the dark mage into its core, giving it some of the abilities of the dark mage as well. A battle for dominance over the soul ensued. The dark mage, already weakened by the fusion process, was unanimously dealt with by the other souls. The elementals fell next, overwhelmed by the many insane human souls. With the elementals gone, the tormented souls fell upon each other, tearing each other apart in mindless agony. In the end, only the soul of the young girl, added most recently (aside from the dark mage), was left intact. Her name was Narza.
Magic and Abilities:
Invisibility (turn invisible, simple for a ghost)
Incorporeal Form (she actually can’t touch things if she tried, currently)
Soul Steal (steal a target’s soul, works better on weaker and weakened targets)
Devour soul (grow stronger by consuming a soul, stronger souls are more difficult to consume but are worth more. Slightly increases her magical power.)
Possess Husk(take control of a soulless body. Allows Narza to take a physical form and use that body’s magic at a fraction of its strength. She can’t preserve its health until stronger.)
Elemental Affinity for Water/Ice
Elemental Affinity for Wind/Air
Flight (ghosts can naturally fly)
Resistant to poison (How would you poison a ghost?)
Soul Sense (Sense souls around Narza, souls have to be sensed before they can be interacted with afterall)
Soul Replacement (put a soul back into a soulless body.)
Locked: (until more souls are eaten and she grows stronger)
Soul Scour (rip apart a soul for information. Narza can learn a magic if she rips apart enough souls that know that magic. Also aids in digestion.)
Corporeal Form (become solid, taking any appearance)
Elemental Affinity for Darkness
Soul Fusion (combine stolen souls.)
Lightning (subtype of Wind/Air)
Weaknesses:
Fire/Heat
Earth
Holy/Light Magic
Sanctified ground/equipment
Holy Water (somewhat nullified by Water/Ice Affinity)
Due to Narza’s Wind/Water/Darkness affinity and spirit body, she’s doubly vulnerable to light and heat. She also can’t pass through the ground like normal ghosts until she’s stronger. Additionally, Narza cannot learn any magic of opposing elements. Has no skill with weapons.
Personality: Innocent, naive, and terribly hateful. Has the personality of a young girl, the ambition of a failed dark mage, and the hatred and anger of many dozens of tormented souls. As a former twelve-year old, Narza little knowledge of the world save for the bits absorbed from her shredded inhabitants, but is curious and sharp. She’s also spiteful and mischievous, with little moral direction even without factoring in the dark mage in her. When the malice of the tormented souls wrests free of her control as they will from time to time, she’ll seemingly lose her temper without warning. Occasionally, she will ask you for your soul out of the blue when her hunger gets to be too much.
Wants/Needs: Souls, especially magical ones or those of mages.
Relationships: Likes to hang out with fellow spirits such as Narza and Umbra.
Backstory: The dark mage Narza consumed left behind a slight sense of loyalty and responsibility to the Dungeon Keeper, so she asked to serve as well, and was accepted. She has inherited the Derrik's possessions, which are:
Basic clothing: Musty dark mage robes, all black and nefarious-looking. And smelling. Narza wouldn't wear them even if she could. (Not that she floats around naked, mind you. She wears what she wore when she died (but will be able to change that later.))
Basic alchemy set
Alchemy ingredient shelf, poorly stocked (previous owner wasn't big on alchemy)
Ritual circle, high-class but defective (Since Narza was able to break free)
Enchanted storage ring, low level, holding dust, empty alchemy flasks, and dirty clothing (has a capacity space of two square meters)
Basic elemental spell tomes: A beginner's guide to Fire Magic, A beginner's guide to Water Magic, A beginner's guide to Wind Magic, A beginner's guide to Earth Magic, A beginner's guide to Dark Magic (laying in a disorderly pile on the floor.)
Arlog's Thesis on soul-binding - Abridged version (another tome
Binding and Sealing - All you need to take a Familiar (Well leafed magic tome, and frozen solid)
Enchanted dagger, for rituals and self-defense. (Never dulls, and is sharper and tougher than normal. Holds a sinister miasma since it has been immersed in dark magic and taken the lives of many innocents in cold blood. Nothing special though.)
Scrying orb of low quality (See distant locations, but only from far away, or a specific location, but must have been there before.)
Staff of Darkness (An enchanted length of wood that make using dark magic slightly easier. Even a level One mage would start with better gear than this.
Mana-recovery trinkets (Barely worth wearing, and also too gaudy.)
Various spell books (all shelved, that Narza can't get to yet since she isn't corporeal. )
Enchanted treasure chest (enchanted to resist weather effects and only open to the owner, holding a mix of souls from different races)
Other: Would be classified as an Assassin/Mage I suppose. Will do anything for a soul. |
9,459 | 268 | 18 | 640 | 262 | The scene rapidly unraveling before Ekusha was one of mildly-controlled chaos: communication was almost non-existent past initial contact, and every champion was putting on their own show, but it was clear to her that the kobold's plan was the one ultimately taking effect. Her own strategy was rendered obsolete by the dramatic entrances of her peers, yet despite her pride she could not afford to abandon the group if this truly were the beginning of the end.
'Contain', that's right...
Ekusha began examining the perimeter of the village, keeping an eye out for the fleeing. Knowing her corporeal form would generate the physical limitation, she kept on with her more subtle methods in her efforts to expedite the process across the boundary.
A mother, running through a field with her two young children, has a breakdown as she realizes what has happened before her: her husband, struck down by an infernal entity, never to be seen again by her in this life or the next; her friends, likely captured or dead while she makes her escape at their expense; her home, her possessions, her livelihood all gone. A mother, covered in spattered blood lays in a field in almost comatose fashion. Her children, color draining from their faces, lay at her feet without drawing a breath.
A coward sneaks between buildings, eyes darting across openings completely oblivious to the stench of fear that radiates from his nervous sweat. He's haunted by the screams of his village: their pleas for help, only to be met with torture as they see their fate approaching. The scent of burning flesh reeks in his nose and mouth, undying no matter how many turns he takes or how far he runs. The scene of scattered body parts burns itself into his retinas. His quiet, peaceful village has turned into a nightmare, one he can never escape from. The next corner he turns, he spies a severed arm still desperately clenching a butcher's knife. Kill... With shaky palms, he forces from it's grasp. ...yourself. In a single motion, he swings it at his neck. The knife falls to the ground and blood sprays across the street. Both hands are clenching the wound, panic sets in, and he begins sloppily running as though seeking help. As all his mental trauma becomes trivialized, regrets overwhelms him.
A few villagers, who moments ago carried brave and dutiful hearts, now flee for their lives after bearing witness to an explosion tearing through their brethren. Fear consumes them; instinct takes effect; self-preservation becomes priority number one. Stand and fight, or run and die. One man begins struggling with his comrades, insisting that their attempts at escaping will be futile. The other wishes to run, but the man argues their odds are greater in battle. A fight ensues, and the other would-be soldiers attempt to break-up the altercation. However, it only escalates, and their grand display of impassioned foolishness turns into blind anger, initially against one another, fueled by their assailants. | Ekusha, the Vain
Physical Form:5'4; petite build.
Tattoos animate (shift positions, change entirely, etc).
Long black hair, nearly reaching waist-level.
Pitch-black pupils.
Mezzo-soprano voice.
Abilities:Exerts influence upon lesser beings, mimicking hypnosis, through various means:
Fear, by preying on insecurities.
Lust, through worldly temptations.
Anger, with impassioned words.
Adapts and evolves external persona to thrive.
Leadership skill set, grand advisor:
Political strategist.
Military tactician.
Economic genius.
Incarnates at will into any one realm.
Can observe and interact without corporeal form.
Exists as a single Cartesian point.
Shapeshifter in physical being.
Personality:Externally appealing and persuasive, especially to lesser beings.
Knows how to kiss some ass to get her way.
Ambitious, but selfish and arrogant about her own success.
Vain when successful, and envious otherwise.
Wants/Needs: Ekusha desires attention in general, whether it be through worship, fame, or influence. Her spirit is immortal, but her power is derived from her more susceptible and impressionable followers (overworld inhabitants, weaker spirits, lesser angels/demons, etc). Her greatest fear is fading into irrelevance, and therefore she is compelled to substantially impose herself on others.
Relationships: Ekusha easily makes and breaks connections, enjoying a degree of self-imposed solitude when she feels is appropriate and dealing with others when it proves advantageous. In this new apocalypse, she is open to getting all the help she can, so long as she gets her cut.
Dungeon Keeper: -
Athinar Gol-Gaia: -
Yappo: -
Emily Kabal: -
That Which Consumes Peace: -
Narza: -
Tiberius Octavius Pulcher: -
Shukra, the Rakshasa: -
Kor, the Darkwraith: -
Tinkerhel: -
Azavarn: -
Umbra: -
Torrens Igneus: -
Clotho: -
Twitch, the Snakebiter: -
Wold, the Dragon: -
Backstory: Throughout time, Ekusha has played a variety of roles in various realms: from grand despot, to military commander, to religious icon, to many other minor roles. She has also, in other instances, fooled many into believing her to be a deity or demon, but she is merely a spirit with no true celestial or infernal affiliation. Her allegiance is ultimately towards herself.
She is cunning in her ways, seeking power in any form available to her. She enjoys being idolized, and being able to use her influence to subjugate all beings through speech and slaughter. She has fought countless battles, and fled her own destruction just as many times. She puts herself in constant conflict with the many idols the world has produced, and her power constantly cycles between significance and non-existence.
Now, Ekusha comes to the Dungeon Keeper in hopes of securing power. She wants to conquer for herself an empire that will last until eternity. She wants subjects across all lands, in all realms, that stand before her. She sees the Dungeon Keeper as a messiah, his apocalypse a revolution, and herself an empress in the making.
Other:Often found observing from the universal sidelines, when not inhabiting any particular realm.
Incalculable amounts of experience in rising to power, over the course of countless lifetimes. |
9,460 | 268 | 19 | 1,270 | 2,337 | Emily slowly got up from the ground after smashing into it, and clutched her head. She'd need something with more instant thrust, to go along with the sustained flight. But for now, she needed to get doing before they overzealous creatures ripped apart so many bodies it wasn't worth doing this at all. Healing and reconstruction where very low on her list of things she could do, and she had no plans to start now. The stench of smoke and death filled the village now, and the villages scattered where they did not lay dying or dead. This was no challenge, it was simply a massacure, and Emily felt slightly repulsed by the idea. Sure she was a creation of an evil Dungeon Keeper designed to enslave the world and all that jazz, but that didn't mean she went around killing people for the sake of killing them. It was with that in mind that she started, so she could avoid more death. A corpse was little good to anyone, unless it was a well kept corpse.
As Emily placed her palm on one of the shining lines that intercected the village, it turned from white and barely visible, to a deep Flame Red, and hard to miss, even when one was running for their life, or caught up butchering for butcher's sake. Once the whole Rune had been turned, she took a breath and began to sing. Her words resonated throughout the village, and missed narry an ear, or demonic equivilent as she started. At the start, it was just a simple hum, but then powerful music flew from the rune, and filled the area as she sung.
"We've been seeing what you wanted, got us cornered right now, fallen asleep from our vanity, might cost us our lives. I hear they're getting closer, their howls are sending chills down my spine. And time is running out now. They're coming down the hills from behind. When we start killing It's all coming down right now. From the nightmare we've created, I want to be awakened somehow"
The Rune pulsated with her words, growing, and those who could percieve the spiritual world and Souls would see a large mass coming up from below it. | Name:
Tiberius Octavius Pulcher, "The Dashing Bastard"
Physical Form: "I put the gore in gorgeous!"
6'6" and 300 of tight body tone. Unarmored, he has a score of scars running him over from a decade in the arenas. His eyes are a fine gray with a catlike shimmer of silver in the back.
Abilities:
Curse; The cornerstone of the hexblade, the ability to lay a witches malicious befuddlement upon intended targets. Not an attack in of itself, it is a go-to weakening of the enemy before engaging. He often pairs the curse with a memorized intimidation to follow up and bring most to cower before finishing them off in a single blow.
Resistance; Like a paladin, he can rely on his sheer strength of will to help shrug off attacks to mind body and soul.
Mettle: Those that he cannot avoid, he tries do bear down and endure, taking the lesser of the worlds woes when he has the chance.
Prestidigitation: Because of the hexblade's calling, Octavius' desire to know more about his arcane abilities manifests itself beyond the ability to curse and the he is able to cast minor prestidigitations at will.
(Item) familiar: Where most would bond to a creature from elsewhere for more power, he has strengthened the bond with his sword to a supernatural level.
Aura of unluck: Once per day Octavius can create a baleful aura of misfortune. Any melee or ranged attack made against the hexblade while this aura of unluck is active has a higher miss chance. Activating the aura is a free action, and the aura lasts for a full minute.
Spells: Like a sorcerer, he uses his sheer strength of will to manifest magic in the world. He just severely lacks the dedication most others would possess by this time.
0 Message
0 Dancing lights
0 Mage hand
0 Detect magic
0 Acid splash
0 Distupt undead
1 True strike
1 Shocking grasp
1 Color spray
1 Identify
2 Eagle splendor
2 Flaming sphere
Personality:
Truly Octavius' greatest strength is his overwhelming charisma, wielded as a weapon as much as his sword. He brings it to bear to cow the most stalwart of enemies and draw up the crowds to a screaming frenzy in the arena.
He is a patient man in combat, often letting the others go first before he devastates them.
He had devoted his life to death, Hades specifically, as a way to deal with the loss of his family. But one can only lash out for so long. In time the burn in his hearth grew cold and hollow so he turned to ways to fill the hole, most often drinking and tavern wenches. But in the end he still fell back to his oldest friend, death. Its more of a bad habit than an addiction, but every week he makes his way to some manner of arena to put himself in the ring.
He's smarter than he ever lets on, by no means is he a genius with lifetimes of knowledge. He's just more experienced that he'd like to be in the way the world works. The best thing he always reminds himself 'always assume they are better than you in every way and plan to fail'.
Relationships:
Since his arrival, he has taken a keen interest in Tinkerhel, She might be a nymphomaniac, but he thinks there is a whole lot more going on in her head.
Backstory:
Octavius' tale is not at twisted as many might think. His parents were simple farmers, his grandfather was a retired army officer who was too maimed to bear spear. When his chores were done for the day, his grandfather would train him in a longsword so big the boy needed both hands to wield it.
Suns rose and set for a decade until the boy on cusp of manhood could now wield the longsword in a single hand. But now he was starting to think with the dagger between his knees and had his eye on the girl across the creek. They were promised to each other and their parents agreed to the union. Sadly, the fates have more in mind than a happy farmer.
A merchant cart heavy with goods came to the farm, asking for a night in the barn for a few silver, all was well until the bandits climbed out of crate and pot to slaughter the family. The boy did well by all accounts, with no armor and only a sword older than him to keep himself safe as he killed the bandit leader while the others ran. As he burned the bodies, he was visited by a lady paladin of Hercule and her ancient wizard. One of his first life lessons about the bigger world would be that halflings and dwarves clearly age differently.
She could see he was strong, strong enough to carry her stuff as his squire as he had nothing left for him here, indeed, he had no other ways to go but with them or try his own. He tried to learn magic cantrips from the wizard but had no luck compared to the combat she refined from what his father gave him. She was teaching him how to fight in armor, a skill he lacked, when they came upon a wizard of the dead.
They made their way to the wizards workshop when they came to discover he was just finishing his ritual to litchdom. The paladin took the undead in a full body tackle while the other two destroyed the phylactery, the wizard found it while Octavius shattered the device but it was too late to save her from its evil magic. The magic of the ritual burned its way into him and changed him to his very core.
Other:
His hat he got from a pirate captain to whom he served upon a ship for a year before a monster afflicted her, her hats own bubble of air was her own undoing.
At one time, he came upon a princess tiara as part of his treasure pull from a successful kidnapping of royalty. In order to dispose of the royal artifact, he had the enchantment transfered to a single jewel worn as a third eye and let them keep the rest of the encrusted property one worn by a queen as payment.
While worn, a third eye conceal protects the wearer from view by all devices, powers, and spells that detect, influence, or read emotions or thoughts. This power protects against all mind-affecting powers and effects as well as information-gathering by clairsentience powers or effects.
Given his propensity for tavern wenches and the like, he was quick to acquire a trinket from the temple of Aphrodite The wearer of this blue gem on a silver chain is immune to disease, including supernatural diseases.
Collected from the skin of a displacer beast, he had its pelt fashioned into his sleeveless longcoat with its powers still within the folds.
Worn inside out to hide its value, he keeps a vest once worn by a pyromancer who was dumb enough to think his innerfire was more powerful than a white dragon. Octavius managed to convince the dragon that the vest would melt the beasts home so he would take it far away while the dragon ate the former wizard for lunch.
Collected from a gnome adventuring party, he managed to run three through on his blade but only kept the one treasure.
1) Mount
2) Slumber
3) Phantasmal Killer
A most useful glove he keeps on hand, it once belonged to an assassin who would use it to bring all manner of gear in a backpack hidden in the stitching. When not used to hide his sword from public eye, he is often known to put his hand into a bucket full (20 pints/2.5 gallons) of holy water and secure it away for dealing with fiery or unholy creatures.
Two small but simple rings in his line of work,
A dwarven ring warded to protect the wearer from evil is actually a good choice when traveling with evil on a daily basis.
As powerful as a ring of invisibility, but far better for him as it makes eight more of him appear rather than make him vanish.
Made from the hide of a Steel dragon parading around as a priestess to Athena, she was fought and slain on her monthly hunt while she was fat and full of a heard of sheep they had left for her as an ambush. When crafted into armor, he had the choice to make the leather immune to acid or protect the wearer from poison, he took the poison protection. In truth it protects him as a full suit of armor as strong as platemail but glamored to be debatable levels of leather and hide piecemeal to suit his ego.
A prize from the arenas, once worn by a master of unarmed combat, this rope belt keeps him far more flexible than he ever could be without it.
Acquired from a fellow raider, a barbarian far from home who could outrun almost anything but a cup of envenomed wine.
These boots let him move faster than normal for moments at a time, acting as a blur when speed was needed over power.
Tattoo:
Psychoactive skin:
Morningstar
An lesser weapon best put to use when three feet of steel isn't recommended. He really hopes to replace it with a mace of disruption soon enough.
Shield
There are times when running around half naked with a greatsword isn't the best plans. When he has to play the defensive position, he uses a heavy shield with a depiction of Gaia upon it as she is of the earth as is hades.
Throwing Axe
When he needs to reach out and touch someone. He is also known to take a moment for himself to relax with all manner of pungent herb or alchemical paste into the bowl on the back.
His gift from beyond. Once, when he was a much younger lad, he traveled as a squire under a paladin of Hercules and her elderly wizard friend into the keep of a vile necromancer. Unfortunately there is a big difference between necromancer and a newly formed litch! Thinking quickly, the paladin took her bag of holding and threw it over them both to pop it away into a pocket realm for just a few seconds as the squire smashed the Phylactery on the work table. The litch turned to dust within the bag and the paladin sacrificed herself for the greater good. Octavius had an idea. He had the wizard use his magic to transmute the holy cold-iron plate-mail of the paladin to the litch dust and he had a greatsword forged from the coldiron dust.
This weapon is a Bane of the undead both solid and ghostly. Its supernaturally keen edge can store the simplest of enchantments within its Damascus folds for release at his will.
Why would a worshiper of the god of death have such enmity to the undead? To KEEP them in Tartarus where they belong!
Recently, he came upon a Devil who had a gift for Octavius. It seems the litch he had defeated so long ago had tried to use the phylactery as a bypass from the devils due. If the litch had succeeded it would have been most embarrassing and bad for business. So out of gratitude he offered the man one gift on credit, not the usual freebie sort of thing but the 'finders fee' of a wayward soul.
Thinking about it, he could easily wish to be the most or the best or the richest... but he had seen how that can bite you in the ass with previous people so he chose to keep it smaller, something he could live without; an extra enchantment on his blade. The two bickered back and forth on the who or what to be done but Octavius was rather stringent on not asking for too much, lest he rely on it too far.
In the end he got an idea from an assassin he used to know and had a small ruby inset into the pommel of his sword. This ruby would trap the soul of every victim of his sword for later that he could bring back to the devil for more credit. So far, Octavius cant find a problem with the deal and that bothers him. |
9,461 | 268 | 20 | 1,449 | 5,930 | Clotho smirked as she spectated Umbra's fascination with the old man's death. She held the shadowy creature in low regard, a being swaddled in apathy and too fixated upon his own wants to ever grow into something more significant. If a being couldn't rouse itself to care about anything, it could never rise farther than the lowliest peon. Not sharing his lustful enthusiasm for killing, the swarm queen began to leave, her bugs already having robbed the house of most of its valuables. “I thought I'd let one of the Master's lesser servants have a kill. Don't let it go to your head, eidolon.” By the time Umbra vacated the armor to let it tumble noisily to the floor, Clotho had already bugged out.
Leaving through the same window by which she'd entered, Clotho shot upward to a vantage point in order to scope out the hamlet's current status. She found it almost wiped out already, many bodies laying dead in the streets, structures bombed, and a plume of unnaturally hot air coming from the blacksmith. A bunch of surviving villagers holed up in the windmill had been transported to the woods and bound in shackles by one of her demonic allies. Already it seemed that the local temple had been sacked by dark forces seeking to prey on the priests' piety, so there was little to do there. Other various monsters were pursuing and easily taking down the few villagers remaining that had fled. Furthermore, an ill feeling was gathering throughout the place, one that Clotho could dimly trace to the young Emily. Judging by the arcane rune inscribed before her, the sorceress planned to unleash some sort of spell. If it didn't level every building, Clotho decided, she'd be surprised. Emily was a lot of power crammed into a deceptively small and unassuming body, and with her array of Sung Spirits and prowess with fire, she was one of the stronger members of the Master's horde. Not wanting to stick around and risk immolation, Clotho scanned the village's perimeter and beheld a twitching patch of grass within a foxhole, where no wind should have been able to reach it.
In a flash, Clotho dove from her vantage point and alighted on the lip of the foxhole. She placed her palm onto the ground, transmitting instruction, and a moment later a mass of earthworms jammed together into a single, huge amalgamation burst from the ground beneath the patch of grass. As it climbed into the air, it carried with it an old man. His face was wrinkled with laugh lines and adorned with bushy gray eyebrows, but it held less fear than Clotho might expect. The swarm queen tilted her head. “You're a clever one. By fleeing on your own, slowly and hidden, you escaped the sight of the brutes and the senses of the spirits, who chased down more tumultuous targets.” She looked at his getup, believing that she recognized it. “You are the village alchemist, no? I have been searching for a human who'd be able to aid me. I am always seeking to expand my knowledge of toxins, chitin, and magical substances, you see. Judging from your collected composition, you are not a coward...merely a man who wishes to live, as all do. I can offer you protection if you can offer me your complete compliance. Of course, this is not optional.” So saying, Clotho sheathed her rapier and grabbed the man beneath his shoulders. She flew with him to where Azavarn's captives stood, and deposited him among the others. She landed next to the scarlet-haired demon. “Greetings. This man will serve me. Pick him a younger assistant and send both to my hive when we return to the Dungeon, or find a subordinate to do it if you are not so inclined. Must I offer you something in return for this service?” Clotho meant the question more as a jape than anything, given Azavarn's nature, but there was always the chance that he'd demand something of her for even something as small as this. | Name: Clotho
Physical Form: Clotho is a foot taller than most men, with long arms and legs, and has a chitinous exoskeleton that is a dull brown-maroon in color. Four gossamer rounded wings, transparent green with orange edges, form into a cloak when not in use. Her shell forms into a barbaric-style armor around her shoulders, knees and thighs, gauntlets, and chest. Small spikes line many of the edges of her shell. Her face is crossed with seams, her nose is inhumanly sharp, and her wide mouth is lined with razor-sharp teeth. A shock of black hair more like spines protrudes from the top of her head. Additionally, her eyes are a bright, luminescent green, with layered pupil rings. Instead of hair, two membranous mini-wings protruding from her upper back form into a hood.
Abilities: Clotho's wings grant her the power of flight, which she can perform with almost ludicrous speed and agility. Her insect carapace functions like armor, affording her ample protections. Hidden inside her left forearm is the Stinger, which she can project from her palm for stabbing. The Stinger can inject a variety of toxins into a target, all of which are manufactured chemically within Clotho's own glands. Such toxins include 'poison', 'paralysis', 'mutation', 'subordination', 'blindness', and 'calcification'.
Cloth also has the ability to command bugs and parasites. Aside from conjuring flies, hornets, leeches, worms, and flesh-eating beetles, sometimes in vast swarms, she also controls her own minions in the form of Myrmidons, Lambent, and Antlions. These she orders around via chirp-calls, and she has no true leadership ability.
The true combat ability of Clotho, however, lies in her rapier. With a barbed tip, it can slide into flesh cleanly and eviscerate it on the way out. Its flexible blade allows Clotho to lash the tip around when fighting, cutting and gashing opponents as she opens them up for a thrust. Its deceptive deadliness, couple with Clotho's uncanny speed and notable strength, make it a lethal tool of destruction.
Personality: A certain conflict underlies Clotho's convincing exterior. Deep inside she is still Nona, confused and reticent and immature. This directly disparages with the aged experience of the that melded its soul with hers, whose bloodthirsty monstrosity has guided her thus far as a Keeper. The union of the two distinct spirits produced Clotho, a cunning, intelligent imperialist. Clotho is without conscious barring the distant, faint murmurs of the suppressed girl within her, and will kill without question, though good judgment keeps her from exercising this often. Though self-centered, she is more than willing to make alliances and deals for mutual gain, and will even adhere to them—an behavior unheard of among most such creatures.
Wants/Needs: Clotho lusts for power and control. She wants nothing more than to rise through the ranks of her master and become both his most powerful warrior and most trusted ally. Eventually, Clotho wishes to gain the ability to become a Dungeon Keeper herself, though she does not plan whatsoever on betraying her current master.
Relationships: None
Backstory: Clotho was once human, an urchin of Virens. This premier logging town, situated in the Oerwood Forest north of the Saploya river, was home to over two hundred thousand, but never truly to a girl called Nona. Surviving by her wits and her knack for finding odd jobs, she later became reliant on the family of Theo Rosenstern. Theo, playing the nobleman as well as the romantic, sought to feel better about his own clan's success and gain a girlfriend in the process by hanging out with Nona and helping her get by. Ever in need of aid, Nona accepted, forming an uneasy relationship with the boy while trying to make ends meet. From a young age, the Biomancer's Guild of Virens, responsible for the magical acceleration of conditioning of the city's saplings and crops, had fascinated her, but her own lowly beginnings and ineptitude for magic estranged her from the organization.
It was in this stagnation, during her nineteenth year of a woeful life, that a voice first reached out to her through her dreams. Its whispers, low and meaningless at first, grew in strength as she became more desperate, and finally its message became clear: journey into the jungle and find a special insect. After convincing Theo to accompany her, Nona left in the morning to pursue her dream. Hours later, she arrived in an unpeopled lumber camp miles from the city limits. Upon entering the shack at its center, she beheld a nasty-looking metallic green wasp confined in a jar. In a trance, she seized the jar -totally unresponsive to Theo's urges- and smashed it against the ground, freeing the wasp. Immediately it stung her, injecting into her the ancient soul of an insidious being of darkness—Kafka.
The two minds, girl and monster, melded, and in the process her own body transformed into its current state. Long before the modification finished, Theo took to his heels. That day, Clotho came to be.
From there she imposed herself on the forest, thinking to become a force of darkness. Though the self-appointed Vermin Queen stockpiled quite the retinue of mindless insectoid minions, and gave the nearby towns a great deal of trouble, she never quite lived up to the status of an evil overlord. After a botched attempt to obliterate her former hometown caused an army of avenging townsfolk to converge on her lair, she fled south until she happened to find one of the Overlord's bands. After wiping the plains with them, she sought the Overlord's dungeon, and pledged her service to him without question. |
9,462 | 268 | 21 | 351 | 2,364 | As Twich was on his way to check out the second granary, his pony came to a stop and reared as the ground around them started to glow a bright red... and singing voices filled the air. Clinging to the pony for dear life, Twich's mind quickly started to go through the few pieces of magic theory he had deemed fit to study out of curiosity and enjoyment back in the day and was quickly coming up blank. Sure, he had picked up a few useful pieces of information but magic wasn't his passion and he wasn't one to use it.
There was no way in all the underworld that this was being cast by any of the villagers... They would have seen evidence of such a powerful spell caster long before they arrived! So clearly it was one of his allies that was casting it. Surely they wouldn't cast something that would wipe out the village and everything in it before their allies could loot everything of value and vacate the place surely?
That line of through died very quickly in Twich's brain as he reconsidered who his so called 'allies' were and an old saying of his tribe; 'You couldn't have been my ally, you made such a good target!'
Twich directed the pony towards the nearest exit to the village and made it bolt as fast as it could go, clinging to it because his life might depend on staying on the bloody thing. The supplies would be fine provided someone didn't freaking magically purge the place from the face of the earth. If they did, he would very much rather be outside the glowing red circle of death so that the loss of the supplies would actually be a problem worth worrying about. | Name:
Twich
Physical Form:
Abilities:
Smarter then thou: What Twich lacks in physical strength and size, he makes up for with a cruel cunning, a twisted intellect and a surprisingly strong will.
Alchemist Training: There are only two things that an alchemist needs to be able to do in order to be a good alchemist; The ability to flip a table and be on the other side of it when what they are working on explodes and the ability to know exactly when to do this. Everything else is just icing on the cake.
If you don't want to eat it just because it has some mold growing on it, hand it over.: Twich is a kobold. They can eat just about anything regardless of how rotten its become just fine without ill effect. They are also immune to horrible smells that would make others sick.
Love the BOOM!: There is something about arson and explosions that just appeals to Twich's soul. The fact that he is very good at creating things that explode and set things on fire makes his inner hatchling very happy.
WHY?! FOR SCIENCE!: Twich doesn't always create or tamper with things to make them explode or catch fire (At least, not as the end goal). Often he likes to create concoctions or perform experiments for a large number of reasons, more often then not because he felt like it or just wants to see if the current theory in his head has any basis in reality.
Personality:
Those who meet Twich would surprisingly discover that he is, above everything else, quite civil. Those above or greater then him will get the recognition that they deserve of course but those of equal and even lower standing will be treated with professional, polite conversation when talking with Twich. They will also quickly discover that he is quite 'mad'; His mind seems to operate on a completely different wavelength then everyone around him and he often views the world far differently from other people as well.
If one really wants to see him in his prime however, all they need to do is suggest a possible alchemy or science experiment within Twich's hearing range. The quest for discovery and knowledge burns within him brighter then the flames of hell themselves; Despite this he has made it quite clear to several demons that have offered him deals for knowledge and alchemist/scientific discoveries in exchange for his soul that he is not interested because 'That was the path of cowards and fools'.
Even the most evil of beings would find the calm, professional and somewhat detracted approach that Twich takes with his experiments rather... unnerving. Almost all of his experiments are performed on live test subjects... often without their knowledge let alone consent.
Wants/Needs: A bigger lab, more resources and freedom to explore with his various fields of science and alchemy. First pick of any group of slaves and captives with no questions asked as to why he wants/needs them. The right to take any student that he wishes.
Relationships: Fairly civil, shows the needed respect to those that require it.
Backstory: Twich was born to the Snakebiter tribe, a kobold tribe that had its tunnels located underneath a somewhat poisonous swamp. Taken to be trained as an alchemist rather early on when he showed he had a knack for it, Twich rather quickly learned everything that his tribe knew about it and found himself consumed by the desire to learn more. At first traveling to other kobold tribes to study, Twich soon found himself learning from many of the other underworld denizens in exchange for his services; At times he even found teachers among the more open minded of the surface dwelling races. When he ran out of teachers who could offer him new knowledge, Twich wasn't satisfied. He needed to know more and that meant he needed to create more things to learn himself.
This is rather challenging as an independent working alone... but with the raise of the Master and his 'Hordes of Darkness', Twich found a patron who could make his dreams and desires a reality in exchange for his services.
Other: - |
9,463 | 268 | 22 | 1,512 | 202 | Since mostly no one could tell that Narza was absorbing souls, it probably just looked like a small cloud was floating from corpse to corpse. The puffy white cloud stops abruptly above a man missing his lower torso and head. Shining lines flared up from the ground, pulsing with music and magic that even the rather inexperienced Narza could feel was dangerous. Moments later, she felt an incomparably huge something rising up from deep below the Earth. She couldn't believe what she was feeling. It was some sort of soul or spirit, but completely different from anything she'd ever felt. Grabbing the rest of the souls from the crowd of humans gibbed by the alchemical blast, Narza flees to the outskirts of the village as fast as she could fly. She didn't know what was going to happen, but the red light from the rune-lines indicated fire, and fire was not one of Narza's strong suits.
109 tormented humans, 2 clerics, 1 orc, one twisted little girl, 3 Elementals, and Derrik the dark mage | Name: Narza (unable to remember her last name)
Physical Form:
Chimeric Specter
Narza is an amalgamation of a wide variety of souls, brought about by a somewhat mediocre dark mage named Derrik. The dark mage combined, a few dozen tormented human souls, the soul of an innocent young human girl, freshly killed to serve as the catalyst, and three different Elementals, one of Wind, one of Water, and one of Darkness. Dreaming of power and infamy, Derrik aimed to create a fearsome tri-element familiar and make his familiar’s personality more easily controlled by using a young girl’s soul as the base. While the dark mage succeeded in fusing the souls, one of his more mediocre points showed in his binding abilities.
The chimeric spirit broke free and consumed the dark mage the split-second after it was born. Because the chimeric spirit hadn’t settled and solidified, it ended up absorbing the dark mage into its core, giving it some of the abilities of the dark mage as well. A battle for dominance over the soul ensued. The dark mage, already weakened by the fusion process, was unanimously dealt with by the other souls. The elementals fell next, overwhelmed by the many insane human souls. With the elementals gone, the tormented souls fell upon each other, tearing each other apart in mindless agony. In the end, only the soul of the young girl, added most recently (aside from the dark mage), was left intact. Her name was Narza.
Magic and Abilities:
Invisibility (turn invisible, simple for a ghost)
Incorporeal Form (she actually can’t touch things if she tried, currently)
Soul Steal (steal a target’s soul, works better on weaker and weakened targets)
Devour soul (grow stronger by consuming a soul, stronger souls are more difficult to consume but are worth more. Slightly increases her magical power.)
Possess Husk(take control of a soulless body. Allows Narza to take a physical form and use that body’s magic at a fraction of its strength. She can’t preserve its health until stronger.)
Elemental Affinity for Water/Ice
Elemental Affinity for Wind/Air
Flight (ghosts can naturally fly)
Resistant to poison (How would you poison a ghost?)
Soul Sense (Sense souls around Narza, souls have to be sensed before they can be interacted with afterall)
Soul Replacement (put a soul back into a soulless body.)
Locked: (until more souls are eaten and she grows stronger)
Soul Scour (rip apart a soul for information. Narza can learn a magic if she rips apart enough souls that know that magic. Also aids in digestion.)
Corporeal Form (become solid, taking any appearance)
Elemental Affinity for Darkness
Soul Fusion (combine stolen souls.)
Lightning (subtype of Wind/Air)
Weaknesses:
Fire/Heat
Earth
Holy/Light Magic
Sanctified ground/equipment
Holy Water (somewhat nullified by Water/Ice Affinity)
Due to Narza’s Wind/Water/Darkness affinity and spirit body, she’s doubly vulnerable to light and heat. She also can’t pass through the ground like normal ghosts until she’s stronger. Additionally, Narza cannot learn any magic of opposing elements. Has no skill with weapons.
Personality: Innocent, naive, and terribly hateful. Has the personality of a young girl, the ambition of a failed dark mage, and the hatred and anger of many dozens of tormented souls. As a former twelve-year old, Narza little knowledge of the world save for the bits absorbed from her shredded inhabitants, but is curious and sharp. She’s also spiteful and mischievous, with little moral direction even without factoring in the dark mage in her. When the malice of the tormented souls wrests free of her control as they will from time to time, she’ll seemingly lose her temper without warning. Occasionally, she will ask you for your soul out of the blue when her hunger gets to be too much.
Wants/Needs: Souls, especially magical ones or those of mages.
Relationships: Likes to hang out with fellow spirits such as Narza and Umbra.
Backstory: The dark mage Narza consumed left behind a slight sense of loyalty and responsibility to the Dungeon Keeper, so she asked to serve as well, and was accepted. She has inherited the Derrik's possessions, which are:
Basic clothing: Musty dark mage robes, all black and nefarious-looking. And smelling. Narza wouldn't wear them even if she could. (Not that she floats around naked, mind you. She wears what she wore when she died (but will be able to change that later.))
Basic alchemy set
Alchemy ingredient shelf, poorly stocked (previous owner wasn't big on alchemy)
Ritual circle, high-class but defective (Since Narza was able to break free)
Enchanted storage ring, low level, holding dust, empty alchemy flasks, and dirty clothing (has a capacity space of two square meters)
Basic elemental spell tomes: A beginner's guide to Fire Magic, A beginner's guide to Water Magic, A beginner's guide to Wind Magic, A beginner's guide to Earth Magic, A beginner's guide to Dark Magic (laying in a disorderly pile on the floor.)
Arlog's Thesis on soul-binding - Abridged version (another tome
Binding and Sealing - All you need to take a Familiar (Well leafed magic tome, and frozen solid)
Enchanted dagger, for rituals and self-defense. (Never dulls, and is sharper and tougher than normal. Holds a sinister miasma since it has been immersed in dark magic and taken the lives of many innocents in cold blood. Nothing special though.)
Scrying orb of low quality (See distant locations, but only from far away, or a specific location, but must have been there before.)
Staff of Darkness (An enchanted length of wood that make using dark magic slightly easier. Even a level One mage would start with better gear than this.
Mana-recovery trinkets (Barely worth wearing, and also too gaudy.)
Various spell books (all shelved, that Narza can't get to yet since she isn't corporeal. )
Enchanted treasure chest (enchanted to resist weather effects and only open to the owner, holding a mix of souls from different races)
Other: Would be classified as an Assassin/Mage I suppose. Will do anything for a soul. |
9,464 | 268 | 23 | 2,049 | 6,923 | The only thing I need from you is the time I should pick you up for dinner, my oh so lovely butterfly. Azavarn said in his suave tone, a sly smirk placed upon his lips. His crimson eyes scanned over his insectoid ally as he let out a slight chuckle, before he turned his attention to the man that was added to his herd of ill gotten 'goods'. His gaze fell upon a young girl who whimpering softly into the bosom of her mother. "You should do nicely." He said before he snapped his fingers and the shackles that bound the girl to her mother vanished and were replaced with a new set that connected to the pair that were now on Clotho's pet alchemist. The demonic man looked out over what was once a village, now being little more than a oversized bonfire. He admired his comrades efforts as much as he could, observing the unique brand of destruction and mayhem each one wrought upon the innocent villagers. "You have to admire their enthusiasm. Like children at play, so much energy and potential, yet no real direction." He spoke half to himself and half to the so called bug queen. "They could use a bit more finesse if you ask me. Though who am I to talk? I after all don't use geyser of worms now do I?" He said with a devilish chuckle. | "I'm the daringest devil you ever met, love."
Name
Azavarn, The King Of The Crossroads, Lord Of The Deal
Physical Form
Azavarn is rather human looking for a demon. He stands at 6'4" in height and has a lean, muscular body build. He has long crimson hair that hangs down to the back of his neck and a beard of the same color that runs along his jawline. The only things that breaks the illusion of Azavarn's humanity would be his skin, it being ash grey, as well as his eyes which are a deep blood red and give off a faint glow. He wears a series of pitch black clothes, such as his leather trench coat, black combat boots, and his wide brim hat.
Abilities
"I Just Make It Look Easy."
Azavarn's physical abilities are far sharper than those of a normal mortal's. He moves so fast that he appears like a mere blur of movement. He is so agile and dexterous that he can grab an arrow out of the air and throw it back at its original shooter. He can preform flips, dodges, jumps, and other maneuvers that would put the most talented acrobats to shame.
"I Don't Miss, Darling."
Azavarn is a marksman with no compare, his accuracy is beyond that of mortal men. He can pin a fly to a tree with a single arrow from three-hundred yards away without killing it. He can draw and fire arrows with such speed that he seems like a one man firing squad. His mindboggling marksman skills are not limited to just a bow and arrow, from knives to or pistol if it can be thrown or fired Azavarn will assure it will hit its mark. He has quite recently throwing cards, they are quite good at giving Azavarn the cutting edge.
"Now You See Me, Now You're Dead."
Azavarn is able to step into one of the many passage ways into the hellish Netherworld and use them to transport himself across the mortal world, to others it will appear that he teleports.
"It Is A Bit Cramped In Here."
Azavarn has the ability to possess the bodies of those with a weaker will or those who have sold their soul, completely controlling them. Those with a stronger will can fight back, though it will be incredibly painful for them to try and force Azavarn out. Azavarn can be exorcised with the proper holy items and rituals.
"Lets Make A Deal."
Does a mortal want to be the best sword fighter in their backwater village? No problem. Do they want to be the most breath taking maiden in all the land? Done. Or maybe they want to be so rich that they sleep on a bed of gold? Easy. All of this can be done with a simple deal with Azavarn, and all he would ask for in exchange for is one itty bitty soul. Once a deal is struck there is no going back on it and that soul belongs to Azavarn for the rest of time, or he decides to release it to whomever he sees fit.
Personality
Do you know that no good, snake in the grass that swindled every coin in his pocket away from someone else and would sell there own grandmother if it meant they would get them a good stiff drink? Yeah Azavarn is the guy that taught that guy everything he knew. This demon has a tongue of pure silver, being able to talk the purest angels into sin. The majority of what comes out of Azavarn's mouth is either a sarcastic remark or a incredibly charming lie. He keeps his cool all the time, regardless if he is making a deal with a mortal or if he is in the heat of battle Azavarn keeps the same sly confidence. This demon can be described as the perfect businessman, getting a man to sign away the souls of his whole family for a sack of potatoes. Azavarn has a black heart, caring for nothing and no one save for himself. The way he sees it others are resources to be used to obtain his goals.
Wants/Needs
Azavarn just wants his right to steal, gamble, trick, torture, and kill his little black guts out back. Let him run his business and you will have a happy little demon on your hands.
Relationships
Who do you think coordinates all those demons making deals with so many mortals? Someone has to be in charge and hold all those souls and Azavarn just so happens to be the right kind of clever, evil bastard for the job. Azavarn runs the whole network of crossroad demons that spread across the land, he knows each and every soul that has been sold, stolen, or given away.
Backstory
"You want to know my story? Well pull up a chair, it is story time kiddos! Where do I begin? Hmmm a yes! Once upon a time there was a stunningly handsome demon. He was a master of his trade, helping poor poor mortals get the lives the always dreamed of and asking for so little in return, just their soul. This demon was so great at his job that he was dubbed, The King Of The Crossroads. Things were perfect for the king for a long time, countless amounts of souls coming in, but that all changed when the horrid age of "peace" began. Demon after demon were killed, deals came to a near halt, and the King had to go into hidings. That was about a thousand years ago and now the King is on the rise again, he has been getting more and more deals, more and more demons working for him, and more and more souls. It is only a matter of time before he is on top again! Now what will it take for me to get my hands on that pretty little soul of yours?"
Other
Azavarn is at home in the tavern, it being the perfect place for his work. With the ale flowing and egos boasting making a deal is child's play. It also helps to be so damn good looking and able to drink enough grog and ale that could kill the drunkest of orcs. |
9,465 | 268 | 24 | 2,751 | 60 | While others were out making a slaughter of the village, Shukra was lifting burning and collapsed buildings off of trapped humans, kicking away bloodthirsty minions, and overall making himself look like the least evil creature among the horde that had come down into the village. Once or twice he'd even punched out one of his own orcs, just to push home the point that any who could be saved would be. In all honesty, he almost wished that he could let some go, just to spread the tales of both horror and heroism throughout the southern half of the continent. But, orders were orders, after all, and nothing more could be done of it.
So, once he had collected himself eight men, two women, and one child. However, now, he came across a group of fleeing militiamen. When they saw the group of villagers following him around like lost puppies, they rose their weapons at him. Shukra shook his head, and said, "Don't do this. You'll be throwing your lives away." Of course, calm and reasonable words were no where near enough to calm angry, desperate people. So, when the first man charged and his poorly crafted spear broke against Shukra's armor, the rakshasa's hand darted out and crushed the man's skull with a single punch. The second of the five came at him with a sword, which the tiger blocked with the backside of his gauntlet, the edge of the iron cracking against it. His maw opened, revealing his sharp teeth, and a stream of fire came out with his breath, incinerating the human.
The other three immediately threw down their weapons and turned to flee, but by this point just as many orcs had appeared, brandishing their weapons. They turned back to Shukra, who was standing there with his arms spread and a smile on his face. "Well, now that that is over, how about we just calmly file in with the others so that you get to continue your lives elsewhere. At least I will not force you all into slavery for someone else's amusement." Considering their options, it was not much of a surprise that they filed in with the the rest. Shukra looked around at the devastated village, and finally noticed the giant rune being formed.
He let out a growl, then called out through the village, "All orcs, return to the hills! Our work here is done." With that, he began marching his men out of the ruins, through the fields that were still being stripped by his Team C. He considered letting them finish, but it had been, what, twenty minutes? Between the ten of them, they'd filled up about six of their baskets, so he ordered them to come on out as well. By the time he reached the top of the hill, Team's A and C had arrived with him, and half of Team B had as well, bringing with them five more women and two more children.
All in all, he considered this a success. Seven women, three children, and eleven men. All of which he could use for something or another. | Name: Shukra
Gender: Male
Race: Rakshasa
Physical Form: Standing at a proud seven feet even, Shukra is a monster to behold, with flowing black fur the color of ash with stripes that glow like flames. His eyes glow the orange of fire, and his maw is filled with razor sharp teeth like his tiger cousins. Each finger is tipped with a razor sharp claw, and a long tail swishes behind him. Few have survived the attempt of touching it. Adorning his body is a suit of ancestral armor, worn by the honor guard of the ancient Rakshasa emperors, made of an unknown metal and inlaid with gold. Aga, his sword, lays on his hip, made of the same metal as his armor and covered in a runes that glow like embers.
Skills/Abilities
Voice of the Emperor - A gentle reminder that he is your better. Every word he says will influence the thoughts of the weak willed and unintelligent towards what he wants.
Breath of the Dragon - Fire is his ally, and so he has garnered an immunity to its effects, and can manipulate natural fires or create his own through magic.
Strength of the Tiger - He is naturally tougher and stronger than most other races, and has, at one point, torn an orc chieftain in half with his bare hands.
Speed of the Snake - While he is not the fastest man to live, he can outrun any human with ease, and his reflexes are far superior to most others.
Blade of the East - He is a good swordsman, but by no means the best.
Personality: Shukra is confident that he, because of his race, if not himself as a person, is superior to all others, especially others. As such, he will rarely give the time of day to others he sees as below him, and those that he has managed to come to terms with as them being his equal, he will at least attempt to be civil with them, in his own special way as an ass. The rare occasion he'll find someone who has proven themself to be his superior, he's found an unnatural and unhealthy obsession with being under their service. Up until the point where he's confident enough to kill them and take their place, but with the current Dungeon Master, he is unsure of his ability to do so. However, he does have a soft spots for his servants, and gets legitimately enraged when he finds out his lackeys have been killed.
Wants/Needs: Shukra wants one thing: To restore the glory of the Rakshasa, even if he is the only one left. Land, subjects, and cities to lord over are what he wants, for those that are lesser than him to submit and become become his, one way or another. That, and to become strong enough to deserve the title of King.
Backstory: In the jungles to the east, there are stories of the rakshasas, demonic tiger men that lorded over lesser races. They were brought down by great heroes, or sealed away by powerful mages. But, there were some that managed to escape persecution by their servants and peasants. Shukra, once a steward and guard to a more powerful rakshasa. He escaped, and went into a dormant state. However, he was recently awakened by a clan of orcs, deep underground. Shukra is unsure of how he got there, but after slaying the chieftain of the orcs, he took command of their clan and drove them to the surface, forcing them to become strong, smart, cunning. He's lead them close to the surface, where others of their kind and other degenerates forced underground by the humans to hide and cower have gathered. That is where he shall begin his ascent, and return to glory.
Other: His sword, Aga, is made of an unknown metal and covered in red runes that glow like embers. Because of the magic in these runes, the sword is impervious to rust, will never dull, and will never dent, and is immune to all but the strongest of magics. He also has a clan of orcs under his command, which is convenient at times.
The Vorhaas Clan |
9,466 | 268 | 25 | 215 | 1,683 | Athinar rode the horse hard, barely noting the kobold fleeing with a 'twitch' of his peripherals. Releasing the reins, he stood up in the saddle, as he came alongside the villagers, who looked up at the massive mans form with hope, however brief it was. Jumping away from the horse, he landed on top of a man's shoulders, forcing him to the ground, and shattering the collarbone, forcing him to writhe in agony, struggling for breath as his heart pumped blood through a broken body. Grinning beneath his mask, he simply stood next to the man's shattered form as the militia, shocked, came towards him in rage, fear, desperation. After all, he was only one man, right?
Athinar inhaled. A man on the right. Sword. Swinging wildly. Easily deflecting it with the palm of his hand, Athinar grabbed the man's neck, and crushing his windpipe in his massive hand, Athinar knocked him unconscious with a headbutt, leaving him to suffocate to death. Not what Athinar would have wanted, but the Master would value efficiency over pleasure. Licking his lips, Athinar grinned. That would come later.
The ragtag militia came to a halt, staring at this man who had made short work of two of their companions. The remaining twelve stood in despair. How would they face this man? Athinar, obviously displeased by what he had to do, raised his ice cold voice, chilling them to the bone. "You will drop your weapons. You will not try to attack me, or escape. Then, you will follow me, wearing these." Athinar held up a long chain of shackles that the Master had given him, ordering him to capture as many as possible. The Master saw that Athinar was displeased by the order, but he would follow it to the letter. Then, a balding man, holding a spear, charged him, howling, despite his companion's objections. Grinning, Athinar fell into rock style, and then dodged the spear as it was thrust at him. Shattering it with a massive forearm, he could smell the man's fear. See it in his eyes. It was delicious. Relishing what came next, Athinar punched the man in the face, knocking him backwards.
The man began to fall down, but Athinar grabbed his shoulder, pulling him towards him. Pulling his fist back, he smashed the little man's face in over and over again with his gauntlet, until it was little more than a meaty paste. Dropping the corpse in front of his companions, Athinar let out a little shiver of excitement. He didn't expect that, but it was welcome. Turning to the others wildly, he held up the chain. They came willingly.
Athinar called the horse back, and stood at the head of the chain of captives, looking how the iridescent crimson glowed on his gauntlet, when he realized, the blood wasn't the only red thing in the area. A massive, glowing rune appeared in the village proper. Staring, Athinar thought it was the most beautiful thing he ever saw. It was the color of gushing, pouring, holy, blood. | Name: Athinar Gol-Gaia
Physical Form:
Tall, well-muscled, and stable, he is the pinnacle of physical perfection, even by the standards of some who would call themselves 'Immortal'. He is 6'8", and weighs at 300 pounds, in his normal form.
In his alternate form, he gains a sentient sword, and a set of armor which is actually part of him. In this form, sometimes his face is visible, but more often than not, he keeps his mask on. He is 7'0" even, and weighs 450 pounds.
Abilities:
Normal Form / Carnage Form - Athinar has decided to forgo magic that affects others, in favor of a magic that supplements his already impressive strength. His Carnage Form is a shell, which looks like armor, but actually is a super-dense exoskeleton. While in this form, he is significantly slower, but is immensely more powerful in terms of strength and defense.
Summon: Carnage Blade - Athinar has the ability to summon his Carnage blade at any time, however it is smaller and less impressive when he's not in Carnage form, although it still is alive, and speaks to him. The blade's name is Requiem. what the sword looks like, except with glowing red runes down the middle.
(Normal Form - Rock Style) Blood Palm - Athinar uses the blood spilled by anyone, including his own, in a fight, to empower his fist's attack.
Martial Arts - Athinar was trained in three forms of martial arts by the monks. However, he is only the equivalent of a black belt in one, and slightly competent in the others.
(Skilled)Rock Style - Athinar stays solid, and in place, for the most part. He uses his fists, elbows, and occasionally trips the enemy, but tries to keep his feet steady. For if he can, not much in the terms of human force can move him, but if anyone has trained in Windstance (or was strong enough), they could move him through sheer momentum and weight transfer.
(Beginner)The Path of the Cyclone - Not so much a martial art as a series of moves, executed one after the other, this unarmed style is used to fight large groups of enemies. There are twelve moves altogether, in three groups. However, Athinar was only taught the first group, and cannot continue the momentum of the Path.
- Leaping Tornado: Athinar lunges forward, landing among his enemies.
- Unseen Tempest: Athinar waits three seconds for enemies to close in, ready to strike.
- Stormblade: Athinar ducks down beneath a man's weapon, and elbows him in the chest/neck area.
- Cyclone Kick: Athinar does a roundhouse kick, tripping all surrounding enemies.
However, these are usually poorly executed, due to lack of training.
(Beginner) Celestial Mirage - This is possibly the martial art that he's learned that he has the most trouble with. It is a kick-based martial art, one that forces you to maintain patience. It's attacks come in bursts, to draw the enemy out, and allow the student to analyze the situation. However bad Athinar is with this, it was still one of the arts he learned from the monks, and he views it as a useful, albeit F*CKING INFURIATING skill.
Personality: Athinar gets intense pleasure from seeing other creature's blood. No matter the circumstances, or whether he is allied with them or not. When he is not getting excited by bloodlust, he is usually a very calm, collected individual, who is quite intelligent, surprisingly. When blood is near, he turns into a vicious man, taking pleasure in drawing blood, tasting it, etc. Afterwards, he is, shall we say, *ahem* easily excitable. If you know what I mean. However, this doesn't mean that he's not smart. He is extremely smart, in his bloodlust, and will be able to craft plans on the fly, if they end in violence and killing.
Relationships:
Emily- Thinks that the homunculus is beneath his attention, generally, unless she does something big and shiny.
That Which Consumes Peace- A fool, disobeying the Boss, but made a nice save, getting Shukra mildly punished.
Ekushka- Hasn't met her yet.
Narza- Is quite fond of the little ghost, curretly.
Shukra- A pompous ass who fails at commanding.
Darkwraith Kor- A good fighter, like Athinar, who shares his bloodlust. Enjoys his company.
Azavarn- Too flamboyant.
Umbra/Christopher- Thinks that Christopher is a bit off, but doesn't know why.
Torrens- Doesn't have any opinion of him, but thinks that a fire demon might be useful.
Clotho- Has a strange fixation on Clotho's chitin.
Twitch- Has disdain for the ratty, well, twitchy kobold. Maybe if he actually did something, he might be useful.
Backstory: Athinar is the reincarnated form of an ex-Dungeon Keeper, banished from his former world, and born to a new life in this one. However, he don't remember shit, and the only benefits were the impressive physical abilities you see today. He was born to an order of monks, who trained him in every combat style, unarmed and armed. However, this revealed his darker secret, his love for shedding blood. Killing them all, he was guided by a voice in his head, who told him that if he joined with him, he'd get to kill, kill, and keep killing. So he met up with the Dungeon Keeper, and started killing.
Other: If Athinar seems too powerful, remember that he was converted to the Dungeon Keeper's cause by him just saying that he could kill people if he joined him. He's not dumb, but he does have quite the one-track-mind, and is quite susceptible to manipulation, in both forms. Like, REALLY susceptible. A novice hypnotist could put him to sleep. |
9,467 | 268 | 26 | 2,360 | 668 | Kor emerged from the burning temple with his appetite satisfied from feasting on the humanity of two holy men. The scene he witnessed was... nice. Blood pouring through the streets, the delightful melodies of anguish and terror wafting through the air, and a rather lovely looking rune glowing ominously in the middle of it all. Such bedlam was a lullaby for his twisted soul. Alas, it seemed as though things were wrapping up. Already the peasants were being rounded up and lead away as captives, and any real resistance had been crushed. Oh well, he may as well grab a prisoner like he saw the others doing.
Kor clotheslined one of the last stragglers that was running away from some other horror, and then picked up the man by his throat. "I always wondered what the point of keeping prisoners was," he said as the man futilely kicked against the Darkwraith's armor in a desperate attempt to break free. "If you're hungry, eat. If not, just kill it, am I right?" The man could only give a garbled response, and then fell limp. "Oh, you've got to be kidding me! I wasn't even squeezing that hard!" With a sigh, Kor simply ran his sword through the man's torso and hoisted it up onto his shoulder. Eventually Kor met up with the line of prisoners that Athinar was leading, genuinely impressed by the man's efficiency at rounding them up. Some of the humans gave a horrified look at the fresh corpse whose blood and guts were dripping down his skeletal armor and leaving a crimson trail in his wake. Kor grinned beneath his helmet and said aloud, "Geez, its like they've never witnessed an impalement before." | Name: Darkwraith Kor
Physical Form: The darkwraiths are beings that were once humans, but were twisted to depravity through the temptation of a dark serpent. These beings feast on the souls of their victims, and also on their very humanity. The darkwraiths have a drug-like addiction to humanity and in feasting on it, they drain the sanity from their victims to retain their own. Their skeletal appearance is actually a suit of armor granted to them by the serpent. Beneath it, the a healthy darkwraith looks very much human, but a starved one will have their nature revealed with wrinkled, rotting flesh. Kor stands at about six feet. Beneath his helmet, his face his stern and gaunt, with unkempt black hair and dark brown eyes. He has a muscular build derived from years of hunting down his prey.
Abilities: The Dark Hand- This is the magic weapon granted to all darkwraiths by the serpent. It is a manifestation of the darkness in their souls, and in its idle form appears to be an ethereal orb of blackness with streaks of red squirming about its wielder's hand. The Dark Hand can warp into both a sword and a shield with a complete physical manifestation. Due to the ethereal nature of the Dark Hand, it cannot be broken, but at the same time it will often yield to sturdy materials.
Lifedrain- The most feared of the darkwraith's abilities. The user channels his hunger into his Dark Hand and lunges at a victim. Upon contact, he drains the victim of his humanity. This does no physical damage to the target, but destroys its sanity, turning it into a soul-starved creature that will attack friend and foe alike. This ability does not work on those that are already corrupted or depraved, but on those that are valiant and righteous.
Abysswalker- In this world, there exist magics, indeed entire planes, forged from darkness itself. The darkwraiths are one of the few beings that thrive in such darkness. They are immune to the effects of darkness-based magic and can freely navigate through any realms made of darkness.
Red Eye Orb- A blood-red orb with a menacing eye carved into it. This orb seeks out the pure of heart, and once a target is located the orb will begin to pulsate. Once the target has been located, no amount of walls or barricades can stop a Darkwraith. They can use the Red Eye Orb to transport them to the general vicinity of the target. This comes with great risk, though. The orb does not reveal who the target is or what defenses are established, and it will only bring them withing 100 feet of the target. The darkwraith may be stepping into his own doom.
The Dark Sword- The melee weapon of choice for darkwraiths. The Dark Sword is a straight sword with a thick, wide, blade. The additional mass makes it good for staggering heavily armored foes. Though heavy, Kor can wield this blade masterfully, preferring to unleash a flurry of quick strikes rather than large single strikes.
Ring of the Evil Eye- Legend has it the this ring contains the spirit of a terrible monster that assaulted the lands long ago. Now, the power of this beast's cruelty is channeled into the bearer. With every slain foe, some of the wearer's energy is restored, and light wounds begin to heal.
Personality: In a word, voracious. Where others look at a battle and see terror and carnage, glory and honor, Kor sees a king's feast. These peaceful times have left Kor anxious and irritable from his hunger, but once his appetite becomes satiated he becomes as morbidly jovial as the next minion of darkness celebrating his victory.
Wants/Needs: Kor is driven by a relentless hunger for souls and humanity, but also takes pleasure in the dark. However, Kor is also reasonably intelligent, so any tools that would assist him in his hunt would be seen as an ample reward.
Backstory: Kor was once human, but that is all he remembers of his days before he was a darkwraith. For one reason or another, Kor found himself at the bottom of a pitch-black chasm, unmarked on any maps. He was terrified a first, but then he heard the voice of the serpent. It was a soothing voice, an infallible voice: "You were born from the Dark, why do you fear it?" Kor's pulse slowed and he sat upright. That's right, it was only darkness, there was no reason to be afraid. "Ah, you are not like the others who tremble at the Dark! Come, let me give you this gift, and you can be the savior to usher in a new age!" Naturally, the years of hiding in the shadows merely to sustain his own existence was grueling for Kor. However, when he heard of the new dungeon keeper, the prospect of open combat was appealing, plus he liked the new age that the dungeon keeper wanted to usher in. |
9,468 | 268 | 27 | 740 | 392 | That Which Consumes Peace examines the glowing ring and smiles broadly.
"This is bound to be delicious.", he says as his smile grows ever more broad. The demon then decides to check up on his demon brethren.
Appearing beside Azavarn, with She Who Bathes in Blood appearing beside That Which Consumes Peace (and complaining with a " "Awe, boss I had just started having fun!"), he greets the fellow demon.
"Ah, hello, Azavarn. Quite an assortment of humans you have here," That remarks, gesturing to the people in chains. While examining them the demon has an idea.
" Say, what would it take to pry about 7 or 8 humans, young adults preferably, from your hands? I'm afraid I cannot offer you my soul", That Which Consumes Peace says to the fellow demon. | Name: Emily Kabal, Spirit's Sonnet
Physical Form: Innoculious and cute, Emily is in every way a young human girl that draws little attention and can go wherever she wants to without anyone becoming sucpicious, and anyone who does think to stop Emily gets such a heart melting smile they can't help but let her go on. She has no physical Tell to inform a person there is more than meets the eye, and she wears casual peasant garb which further enhances her ability to slip in wherever and whenever she wants.
Abilities: Magic is Emily's forte, and she fortes brilliantly. There are few human warlocks who could compete with Emily by herself, and she is assisted in her magical talent by four Sung Spirits - a special branch of spirit that can only be summoned by singing, rather than ritual - which pushes her magical prowess far beyond what any mortal could ever dream of. The three spirits she hosts are Storm, Earth and Fire, with an Overseer spirit that watches the other three and posesses talent in their schools. Most of her spells are generic, if powerfully utalized, but the one unique spell she posesses is Empyrean; The Fire King's Crown. It does not exist in this dimension the same way that the rest of her magic does, and so she needs help from her Fire spirit and the Overseer to conjuer it. She creates the physical shell while her spirits fill it with the fire itself. Once that is done, Empyrean; The Fire King's Crown can be used in two differen manners. The first is a singular target, which upon impact incinrates them internally and externally at the same moment, making it effective even against armour or barriers - something to note is that if the target can absorb heat and fire, then they are super-charged by it rather than burned to a cinder. The second is a wide spread attack that causes an extremely hot fire to voraciously spread through the surrounding area, engulfing a small village in moments. The strain, both physically and magically, is considerable so it is not often used. Another rather personal, but not unique, ability is how Emily can use her fire as a sort of Afterburner, and fly through the sky. This is not very subtle, and causes her magics to drain at a constant rate, so she does not use it lightly. The third uncommon ability is her teleporting from Fire to Fire. This requires a pillar of flame to engulf Emily, and then a second Pillar of flame to drop her off. The disadvantage is that it causes disorientation and the second pillar can sometimes not be available.
Aside from magical abilities Emily can - obviously - sing very well, and enjoys simply singing for the thrill of it. She puts this to use summoning her spirits, most commonly Blanks which can posess weak-willed humans or recently dead cadavers and provide Emily with feedback and obidience. With slightly more effort, Emily can bind elemental spirits to herself - or though currently she is at her limit and wants to give her body time to adjust before getting more - and also to beings like Wolves, and Badgers, and Sheep. And humans, but they are usually not so cool and not so plentiful. Emily has a sharp mind as well, able to create a plan in a few moments and chain together her three magical elements, creating a combo that is able to take out massive creatures, well confident of their own abilities before they came face to face with this young girl. Physically, she is of a standard teenagers strength and durability, so she avoids close combat.
A final, and rather unknown power, is Emily's ability to percieve Magic. When it is being used, how much, and also the strength of the person she is looking at. This gives her a clear advantage over other magic users, since it allows her to see what theyr are about to use, and work around it. This technique turns her eyes pure gold, and drains her power at a constant rate, so extended useage is unadvisable.
Wants/Needs: While Emily is happy serving Master in every way, she does have a long-term goal to summon and bind Spitfire, The Fire King, Nike, The Earth King, and Minami, the Storm King.
Relationships: Other than her devotion to the Master, Emily fits in well with all kind of Spirits, so she is often found in the company of Umbra and Narza.
Backstory: Emily is a Homonculus, an artifically created Human, and the first sucess in a string of failures that created useless, deformed monstrosities. She was created with magical power in mind, so the creation process sacrificed the strength most artificals could posess in return for a much deeper magical pool. Some think that she does not have a soul because she was created, but that is a falicy, since even Homonculi need souls to exist. She was pushed, magically, to increase her power, and get stronger until a point where she could handle Sung Spirits inhabiting her. She summoned her first, a spirit of Fire, and after a few months of training and control, summoned even more spirits until she had the total of four she has now.
Other: ((Anything else that you want to mention?)) |
9,469 | 268 | 28 | 268 | 1,389 | Torrens had been having such a good time, lavishing in the temperatures of the blacksmith's furnace, that he had completely lost track of time. At one point Octavius had popped by briefly to check that the blacksmith had been secured, but despite that brief interruption Torrens may have sat there until all the coal in the house had been consumed, if beautifully sung lyrics didn't drift their way across the entire village. Torrens took it as a wake-up call, and finally crawled out of the furnace and stepped into the room proper. He was in much better condition than at the start of the raid. His skin had gone from a dull to a bright shade of red. The stones beneath his feet were already red-hot after only a few moments of contact. And his incandescence was visible, like that of hot coals.
The blacksmith backpedaled away from Torrens as he walked ahead, in case the demon had decided to turn on him, but Torrens instead went for the door and opened it, leaving a blackened imprint of his hand about a centimeter deep in the wood. He poked his head outside and looked both ways, and discovered that the raid was almost at a close. There were bodies down the main road, some with mortal wounds or mutilation, others just stone cold dead, some unhurt but unconscious and unmoving. The other raiders were leaving the village, with prisoners in tow, and some raiders were leaving the village in a great hurry. And near the center of the village stood Emily, facing away from him and singing next to part of the giant glowing red rune which encircled the whole village. He had noticed, when he was standing on the roof, Emily doing something flying around the village shooting lines onto the ground, so he figured this must be it.
Torrens stepped out of the blacksmith's and motioned for his captive to follow. "I think we're done here. You go join that lot over there," Torrens said to the blacksmith, pointing to the group of prisoners being led out of the village by Athinar, "Hurry over, surrender yourself to them, and you should be fine. Tell them that Torrens the fire demon sent you. If you flee, they'll murder you. Run along now." Left with no real option, the blacksmith hurried to catch up with the group of prisoners being led by Athinar.
Torrens, on the other hand, turned and walked towards Emily. There was no rush. No panic. No fear about the possible effects of this massive rune. After his veritable feast and brimming with overconfidence, Torrens felt nothing short of a lake or a village-obliterating explosion could threaten him. He figured that dumping a lake on the village would be unlikely for Emily to do and a little silly, with what knowledge he knew about her, and one does not stand willingly in the epicenter of village-leveling explosions unless it was a suicidal last resort, so it probably wasn't the second option either. And so Torrens walked casually until he was standing about 15 meters from Emily, positioned far enough in front of her to have entered Emily's vision.
Torrens nonchalantly leaned against a house, the stone wall and the dirt beneath him slowly starting to melt, and listened to Emily's song for a few more lines before speaking out. "Lovely song. If you can't respond, I understand, but what will this rune do?" | Name
Umbra
Physical Form
Umbra
Umbra has no real physical form, but rather takes control of various objects most often statues, and in rare occasions even people or animals. In order to get around this Umbra does have a human companion that he uses as a temporary body if the situation calls for it.
Christopher
His companion is a small child named Christopher who is around the age of 7 who stands at just under 4’. The child looks like a normal human commoner, and wears nothing but very simple clothing, a plain white t-shirt and light brown pants (both loosely fitted and slightly torn). Christopher looks very unkempt and often appears covered in dirt and grime.
Abilities
Umbra
-Possess:Umbra attempts to take complete control of the person or object for an unlimited amount of time if successful. If the object is inanimate and is unprotected from magical wards then Umbra can possess it with ease. If he is trying to posses something protected by a magical ward or something that is living than it is slightly more difficult, and if the person is strongly willed or if the object in mention is protected by a powerful enough ward than Umbra will become unable to posses said object and will become unable to repossess something for the next twelve hours.
-Inanimate Possession: If Umbra takes control of an inanimate object than he will be able to move around as that object as if it was another living being, only without the physical limitations of a normal human either, granting him as much as four times the physical capabilities of the average human.
-Living Possession: If Umbra takes control of a living being than he is able to interact with people as if he was one. Though this comes with the risk of failure due to the person’s willpower and their own physical limitations, it is often the easiest way for Umbra to get around.
-Trapped in Purgatory: When Umbra is not taking possession of an object or person he is unable to interact with the world of the living or be seen by those who inhabit it.
-Frozen Touch: If Umbra is able to pierce or cut a living thing or object it will immediately begin to freeze until the person or object is completely frozen (It can take upwards of two days to become fully frozen from a minor cut, but a major wound can take as little time as an hour). The only way to prevent this is from fully happening is by cutting off the afflicted wound, using advanced healing magic or any kind of fire based magic to stop the spread.
-Enemy of the light: When Umbra takes possession of a person or object he is unable to walk around or move in direct sunlight or any source of light as strong as sunlight, as well as unable to leave the possessed body because of it (fire lit rooms don’t affect him). If he comes into contact with any form of shade he is able to continue as if he wasn’t in sunlight.
-Personality Disorder: When Umbra takes possession of a living being he will adopt that person’s characteristics and personality completely.
-Flight: When Umbra is not taking possession of a person or object he is able to naturally fly from location to location at immense speeds.
Personality
Umbra
Umbra is often extremely apathetic showing little care for morality or others around him beyond achieving his own goals and surviving. This makes him not inherently evil nor inherently good, but rather someone who will chooses the quickest and cleanest solution to solving a problem.
Christopher
Christopher is extremely outgoing and talkative for a small child. His childlike behavior is often easily noticed, and sometimes will go out of his way to show this to those around him. He is extremely naive and will attempt to befriend anyone or anything he sees. Much like Umbra, over the couple of years Christopher has spent with him he began to lose any concern over morality. Often seeing killing or other despicable activities as normal things that you must do in order to survive.
Wants/Needs
He has two ultimate goals, to find a permanent body of his own, one that doesn’t age, need rest, or get exhausted, and to be able to move freely in the sunlight. He is convinced that “the master” will be able to one day provide this to him or at the very least find him someone who can.
Relationships
Umbra holds a close relationship with Christopher. The small child being the closest thing he could have to his son he began to grow fond of him. Eventually befriending Christopher.
Backstory
Once a wealthy man named Jackson Rider, Umbra lead a life with little care until he found a beautiful woman named Rosana, who promised to marry him if he proved that he wasn’t only wealthy, but brave. Eventually he came to the conclusion the only way to prove this was to defeat a witch outside of the village, and bring back her head to show all of the towns people. As a week passed by he prepared buying weapons, armor, and potions to eventually defeat this witch.
Eventually the time came and he set off on his journey, eventually arriving within two days. The witch though proved much more powerful than he had ever expected. To her, he was nothing but a mere bug waiting to be squashed maybe even less so. Before striking him down she found it more interesting to curse him instead. “A child born without soul to the newly wed wife. A husband to a weeping woman and a child without purpose in life. Forsaken by god and forsaken by man. Simply to prove one's bravery matches his wealth hand to hand.”
It wasn’t long before he arrived home with feelings of failure and confusion. When he went to tell Rosana of his failure, she accepted him saying “an honest man is more virtuous and worthy of being my husband than the bravest of men,” and so they married. It wasn’t long until his wife told him of her pregnancy and the child was born not long after and was named Christopher. Sadly much like the witch had told him long ago his child was born without a soul.
That day he journeyed to the witches hut, leaving behind both his wife and child. He begged and cried for forgiveness. For the witch to lift the curse on his son. She smiled wickedly and whispered. “Death will be both your salvation and your punishment.” She quickly pulled out a dagger and stabbed Umbra through the chest, whispering a chant.
When he finally awoke he was greeted by the witch. “You are no longer man nor are you demon, simply Umbra taker of lives. Forced to walk in the shoes of others and the shadows of the night. Enjoy your son’s soul for yours.”
After many years after that day, how many exactly is unknown to him, he slowly began to desire what he once lost many years ago. Eventually he stumbled upon the dungeon keeper. Sensing his power and strength he decided it would be best to seek his help. They eventually they came to a compromise, if Umbra helps him achieve his goals he will one day return the favor.
Other
-If Umbra is in the body of a living person and said living person suffers a fatal wound Umbra will not die, but rather he would suffer a great amount of pain and will be unable to possess a body for a great deal of time (usually around a couple of weeks).
-There is no real way to permanently ‘kill’ Umbra, rather you can banish him to another plane of existence. While this can be accomplished through powerful spells or other magical means, the easiest way to do this would be to destroy his possessed body completely before the possessed can die. (Note: He can technically leave the possessed body at anytime so this would be best accomplished if he was under direct sunlight, or if it was by surprise.) |
9,470 | 268 | 29 | 2,049 | 6,923 | You know how this works old sport, you get nothing for free. I am running a business after all. Azavarn said with a side glance to his hellspawn brother. "Besides eight humans is quite the request, especially if one is expecting it for free." He said he looked over his crowd of human cattle. "Though I may be open up for a trade of sorts, no souls required." The red haired demon said as he looked passed That Which Consumes Peace and directly at She Who Bathes in Blood, giving the smaller demon a wicked wink. | "I'm the daringest devil you ever met, love."
Name
Azavarn, The King Of The Crossroads, Lord Of The Deal
Physical Form
Azavarn is rather human looking for a demon. He stands at 6'4" in height and has a lean, muscular body build. He has long crimson hair that hangs down to the back of his neck and a beard of the same color that runs along his jawline. The only things that breaks the illusion of Azavarn's humanity would be his skin, it being ash grey, as well as his eyes which are a deep blood red and give off a faint glow. He wears a series of pitch black clothes, such as his leather trench coat, black combat boots, and his wide brim hat.
Abilities
"I Just Make It Look Easy."
Azavarn's physical abilities are far sharper than those of a normal mortal's. He moves so fast that he appears like a mere blur of movement. He is so agile and dexterous that he can grab an arrow out of the air and throw it back at its original shooter. He can preform flips, dodges, jumps, and other maneuvers that would put the most talented acrobats to shame.
"I Don't Miss, Darling."
Azavarn is a marksman with no compare, his accuracy is beyond that of mortal men. He can pin a fly to a tree with a single arrow from three-hundred yards away without killing it. He can draw and fire arrows with such speed that he seems like a one man firing squad. His mindboggling marksman skills are not limited to just a bow and arrow, from knives to or pistol if it can be thrown or fired Azavarn will assure it will hit its mark. He has quite recently throwing cards, they are quite good at giving Azavarn the cutting edge.
"Now You See Me, Now You're Dead."
Azavarn is able to step into one of the many passage ways into the hellish Netherworld and use them to transport himself across the mortal world, to others it will appear that he teleports.
"It Is A Bit Cramped In Here."
Azavarn has the ability to possess the bodies of those with a weaker will or those who have sold their soul, completely controlling them. Those with a stronger will can fight back, though it will be incredibly painful for them to try and force Azavarn out. Azavarn can be exorcised with the proper holy items and rituals.
"Lets Make A Deal."
Does a mortal want to be the best sword fighter in their backwater village? No problem. Do they want to be the most breath taking maiden in all the land? Done. Or maybe they want to be so rich that they sleep on a bed of gold? Easy. All of this can be done with a simple deal with Azavarn, and all he would ask for in exchange for is one itty bitty soul. Once a deal is struck there is no going back on it and that soul belongs to Azavarn for the rest of time, or he decides to release it to whomever he sees fit.
Personality
Do you know that no good, snake in the grass that swindled every coin in his pocket away from someone else and would sell there own grandmother if it meant they would get them a good stiff drink? Yeah Azavarn is the guy that taught that guy everything he knew. This demon has a tongue of pure silver, being able to talk the purest angels into sin. The majority of what comes out of Azavarn's mouth is either a sarcastic remark or a incredibly charming lie. He keeps his cool all the time, regardless if he is making a deal with a mortal or if he is in the heat of battle Azavarn keeps the same sly confidence. This demon can be described as the perfect businessman, getting a man to sign away the souls of his whole family for a sack of potatoes. Azavarn has a black heart, caring for nothing and no one save for himself. The way he sees it others are resources to be used to obtain his goals.
Wants/Needs
Azavarn just wants his right to steal, gamble, trick, torture, and kill his little black guts out back. Let him run his business and you will have a happy little demon on your hands.
Relationships
Who do you think coordinates all those demons making deals with so many mortals? Someone has to be in charge and hold all those souls and Azavarn just so happens to be the right kind of clever, evil bastard for the job. Azavarn runs the whole network of crossroad demons that spread across the land, he knows each and every soul that has been sold, stolen, or given away.
Backstory
"You want to know my story? Well pull up a chair, it is story time kiddos! Where do I begin? Hmmm a yes! Once upon a time there was a stunningly handsome demon. He was a master of his trade, helping poor poor mortals get the lives the always dreamed of and asking for so little in return, just their soul. This demon was so great at his job that he was dubbed, The King Of The Crossroads. Things were perfect for the king for a long time, countless amounts of souls coming in, but that all changed when the horrid age of "peace" began. Demon after demon were killed, deals came to a near halt, and the King had to go into hidings. That was about a thousand years ago and now the King is on the rise again, he has been getting more and more deals, more and more demons working for him, and more and more souls. It is only a matter of time before he is on top again! Now what will it take for me to get my hands on that pretty little soul of yours?"
Other
Azavarn is at home in the tavern, it being the perfect place for his work. With the ale flowing and egos boasting making a deal is child's play. It also helps to be so damn good looking and able to drink enough grog and ale that could kill the drunkest of orcs. |
9,471 | 268 | 30 | 740 | 392 | Following his fellow demon's eyes, That Which Consumes Peace understands immediately. She Who Bathes In Blood gives a giggle and a bow, except that it is not her face that is facing towards Azavarn. "Very well. However, I expect her back, so don't break her.", the darker demon says. That then picks out 8 humans that are in good or decent shape, and mostly young adults with 2 of them being closer to middle age.
"If you would separate these humans from the rest, but keep them chained together of course. Thank you." | Name: Emily Kabal, Spirit's Sonnet
Physical Form: Innoculious and cute, Emily is in every way a young human girl that draws little attention and can go wherever she wants to without anyone becoming sucpicious, and anyone who does think to stop Emily gets such a heart melting smile they can't help but let her go on. She has no physical Tell to inform a person there is more than meets the eye, and she wears casual peasant garb which further enhances her ability to slip in wherever and whenever she wants.
Abilities: Magic is Emily's forte, and she fortes brilliantly. There are few human warlocks who could compete with Emily by herself, and she is assisted in her magical talent by four Sung Spirits - a special branch of spirit that can only be summoned by singing, rather than ritual - which pushes her magical prowess far beyond what any mortal could ever dream of. The three spirits she hosts are Storm, Earth and Fire, with an Overseer spirit that watches the other three and posesses talent in their schools. Most of her spells are generic, if powerfully utalized, but the one unique spell she posesses is Empyrean; The Fire King's Crown. It does not exist in this dimension the same way that the rest of her magic does, and so she needs help from her Fire spirit and the Overseer to conjuer it. She creates the physical shell while her spirits fill it with the fire itself. Once that is done, Empyrean; The Fire King's Crown can be used in two differen manners. The first is a singular target, which upon impact incinrates them internally and externally at the same moment, making it effective even against armour or barriers - something to note is that if the target can absorb heat and fire, then they are super-charged by it rather than burned to a cinder. The second is a wide spread attack that causes an extremely hot fire to voraciously spread through the surrounding area, engulfing a small village in moments. The strain, both physically and magically, is considerable so it is not often used. Another rather personal, but not unique, ability is how Emily can use her fire as a sort of Afterburner, and fly through the sky. This is not very subtle, and causes her magics to drain at a constant rate, so she does not use it lightly. The third uncommon ability is her teleporting from Fire to Fire. This requires a pillar of flame to engulf Emily, and then a second Pillar of flame to drop her off. The disadvantage is that it causes disorientation and the second pillar can sometimes not be available.
Aside from magical abilities Emily can - obviously - sing very well, and enjoys simply singing for the thrill of it. She puts this to use summoning her spirits, most commonly Blanks which can posess weak-willed humans or recently dead cadavers and provide Emily with feedback and obidience. With slightly more effort, Emily can bind elemental spirits to herself - or though currently she is at her limit and wants to give her body time to adjust before getting more - and also to beings like Wolves, and Badgers, and Sheep. And humans, but they are usually not so cool and not so plentiful. Emily has a sharp mind as well, able to create a plan in a few moments and chain together her three magical elements, creating a combo that is able to take out massive creatures, well confident of their own abilities before they came face to face with this young girl. Physically, she is of a standard teenagers strength and durability, so she avoids close combat.
A final, and rather unknown power, is Emily's ability to percieve Magic. When it is being used, how much, and also the strength of the person she is looking at. This gives her a clear advantage over other magic users, since it allows her to see what theyr are about to use, and work around it. This technique turns her eyes pure gold, and drains her power at a constant rate, so extended useage is unadvisable.
Wants/Needs: While Emily is happy serving Master in every way, she does have a long-term goal to summon and bind Spitfire, The Fire King, Nike, The Earth King, and Minami, the Storm King.
Relationships: Other than her devotion to the Master, Emily fits in well with all kind of Spirits, so she is often found in the company of Umbra and Narza.
Backstory: Emily is a Homonculus, an artifically created Human, and the first sucess in a string of failures that created useless, deformed monstrosities. She was created with magical power in mind, so the creation process sacrificed the strength most artificals could posess in return for a much deeper magical pool. Some think that she does not have a soul because she was created, but that is a falicy, since even Homonculi need souls to exist. She was pushed, magically, to increase her power, and get stronger until a point where she could handle Sung Spirits inhabiting her. She summoned her first, a spirit of Fire, and after a few months of training and control, summoned even more spirits until she had the total of four she has now.
Other: ((Anything else that you want to mention?)) |
9,472 | 268 | 31 | 1,449 | 5,930 | Azavarn's comment seemed to spark a sort of amusement in Clotho. She opened her right hand, revealing a yellow butterfly that spread its wings and flitted into the air. A wry smile was sent the demon's way as the swarm queen replied, “The time may come...when you prove yourself worthy of my respect.” She knelt to examine the young captive, who buried her face into the leg of the old alchemist in fear. When faced with a being like Clotho, even the strangest human was preferable. For a reason Clotho couldn't quite place, that rubbed her the wrong way. Returning to her full height, she remarked, “She'll work,” as she joined Azavarn's gaze at the dying village. “The dungeon would have been that much stronger if every villager had been captured, and every material looted. Instead, death and destruction lay waste to what could have been useful. They are so much like children. To maximize returns, it might be wise for the two of us to work together in the future. Twitch, Shukra, and Athinar are not entirely irredeemable.”
With the appearance of That Which Consumes Peace and She Who Bathes in Blood, Clotho felt that her idle time had come to an end. Perhaps it was her human origin, but demons still perturbed her. Executing a slight bow in the direction of Azavarn, she unfurled her wings and took off, moving so quickly that she might as well have teleported. In the air, it came to her attention that the village had not yet been engulfed by a raging pyroclast. Perhaps the little girl's intentions lie elsewhere. She spotted the demon Torrens easily, and from there was able to trace the object of his conversation: Emily herself. Believing herself to be able to outspeed any sort of arcane explosion, Clotho sped toward the pair and touched down opposite Torrens, lest his incredible heat begin to cook her in her own carapace. “The conquest is complete,” she told him, not sure if Emily was in a state susceptible to talk, “No challenge, just as expected. Most of the Master's forces are moving off. Have you two any further business here?” | Name: Clotho
Physical Form: Clotho is a foot taller than most men, with long arms and legs, and has a chitinous exoskeleton that is a dull brown-maroon in color. Four gossamer rounded wings, transparent green with orange edges, form into a cloak when not in use. Her shell forms into a barbaric-style armor around her shoulders, knees and thighs, gauntlets, and chest. Small spikes line many of the edges of her shell. Her face is crossed with seams, her nose is inhumanly sharp, and her wide mouth is lined with razor-sharp teeth. A shock of black hair more like spines protrudes from the top of her head. Additionally, her eyes are a bright, luminescent green, with layered pupil rings. Instead of hair, two membranous mini-wings protruding from her upper back form into a hood.
Abilities: Clotho's wings grant her the power of flight, which she can perform with almost ludicrous speed and agility. Her insect carapace functions like armor, affording her ample protections. Hidden inside her left forearm is the Stinger, which she can project from her palm for stabbing. The Stinger can inject a variety of toxins into a target, all of which are manufactured chemically within Clotho's own glands. Such toxins include 'poison', 'paralysis', 'mutation', 'subordination', 'blindness', and 'calcification'.
Cloth also has the ability to command bugs and parasites. Aside from conjuring flies, hornets, leeches, worms, and flesh-eating beetles, sometimes in vast swarms, she also controls her own minions in the form of Myrmidons, Lambent, and Antlions. These she orders around via chirp-calls, and she has no true leadership ability.
The true combat ability of Clotho, however, lies in her rapier. With a barbed tip, it can slide into flesh cleanly and eviscerate it on the way out. Its flexible blade allows Clotho to lash the tip around when fighting, cutting and gashing opponents as she opens them up for a thrust. Its deceptive deadliness, couple with Clotho's uncanny speed and notable strength, make it a lethal tool of destruction.
Personality: A certain conflict underlies Clotho's convincing exterior. Deep inside she is still Nona, confused and reticent and immature. This directly disparages with the aged experience of the that melded its soul with hers, whose bloodthirsty monstrosity has guided her thus far as a Keeper. The union of the two distinct spirits produced Clotho, a cunning, intelligent imperialist. Clotho is without conscious barring the distant, faint murmurs of the suppressed girl within her, and will kill without question, though good judgment keeps her from exercising this often. Though self-centered, she is more than willing to make alliances and deals for mutual gain, and will even adhere to them—an behavior unheard of among most such creatures.
Wants/Needs: Clotho lusts for power and control. She wants nothing more than to rise through the ranks of her master and become both his most powerful warrior and most trusted ally. Eventually, Clotho wishes to gain the ability to become a Dungeon Keeper herself, though she does not plan whatsoever on betraying her current master.
Relationships: None
Backstory: Clotho was once human, an urchin of Virens. This premier logging town, situated in the Oerwood Forest north of the Saploya river, was home to over two hundred thousand, but never truly to a girl called Nona. Surviving by her wits and her knack for finding odd jobs, she later became reliant on the family of Theo Rosenstern. Theo, playing the nobleman as well as the romantic, sought to feel better about his own clan's success and gain a girlfriend in the process by hanging out with Nona and helping her get by. Ever in need of aid, Nona accepted, forming an uneasy relationship with the boy while trying to make ends meet. From a young age, the Biomancer's Guild of Virens, responsible for the magical acceleration of conditioning of the city's saplings and crops, had fascinated her, but her own lowly beginnings and ineptitude for magic estranged her from the organization.
It was in this stagnation, during her nineteenth year of a woeful life, that a voice first reached out to her through her dreams. Its whispers, low and meaningless at first, grew in strength as she became more desperate, and finally its message became clear: journey into the jungle and find a special insect. After convincing Theo to accompany her, Nona left in the morning to pursue her dream. Hours later, she arrived in an unpeopled lumber camp miles from the city limits. Upon entering the shack at its center, she beheld a nasty-looking metallic green wasp confined in a jar. In a trance, she seized the jar -totally unresponsive to Theo's urges- and smashed it against the ground, freeing the wasp. Immediately it stung her, injecting into her the ancient soul of an insidious being of darkness—Kafka.
The two minds, girl and monster, melded, and in the process her own body transformed into its current state. Long before the modification finished, Theo took to his heels. That day, Clotho came to be.
From there she imposed herself on the forest, thinking to become a force of darkness. Though the self-appointed Vermin Queen stockpiled quite the retinue of mindless insectoid minions, and gave the nearby towns a great deal of trouble, she never quite lived up to the status of an evil overlord. After a botched attempt to obliterate her former hometown caused an army of avenging townsfolk to converge on her lair, she fled south until she happened to find one of the Overlord's bands. After wiping the plains with them, she sought the Overlord's dungeon, and pledged her service to him without question. |
9,473 | 268 | 32 | 215 | 1,683 | Athinar grunted at the darkwraith briefly, not giving much attention to the gaunt figure. He didn't care much for the creatures, for if they got to someone before Athinar, it just wasn't as gratifying to draw blood. Also, they didn't really bleed themselves, just kind of oozed. However, his actions perked Athinar's interest. As the black sword pierced the man's chest, droplets of blood splattered over Athinar's helmet and chest, causing his eyes to dilate and nostrils to flare. The metallic scent hung in the air between them, allowing Kor to start a conversation easier. "Yeah, they're a bunch of little pansies who haven't seen a real bloodbath before." Athinar cracked his knuckles and stood casually, noting that excepting the other servants of the Boss, the village was devoid of activity. Then, that one fire demon, Torrens, his name was, came out, on fire, and the blacksmith following. Athinar's eyes narrowed as Torrens pointed directly at him, and the little blacksmith scampered his way.
When the small man reached him, terrified and out of breath, he gasped, to Athinar, "I was t-told th-that y-you'd spare me if I gave myself u-up! Please, don't kill me!" Athinar growled at the smith, causing even the militiamen in chains to shift nervously. "I'd prefer to cut you and your friends down here right now, but since my Boss told me to not to, I guess you can go with your friends back there." The blacksmith broke out in a sweat, and thanked Athinar profusely. Rolling his eyes, Athinar bitch slapped him across the face with his gauntlet, not hard enough to snap his neck, but hard enough to break his jaw and draw blood. Clapping the irons around his wrist, he pulled himself close, breathing into his ear. "Make no mistake, little man, by the time we're through with you, you'll WISH you were dead." Kicking him to the back of the line, Athinar let him lie on the ground for the time being.
Almost as if he could sense his name being spoken, he felt his eyes drawn to Clotho, the bug woman gaining all his attention. She was hovering next to Azavarn and two other demons, in conversation. The way her chitin glistened fascinated Athinar. It was nothing like anything he had seen before. Watching her as she flew to the center of the village, where Torrens and the homunculus were, Athinar sized up the situation, bloodlust sated briefly by violence. The homunculus was summoning some.... magical thing, Torrens was trying to talk to her, and now Clotho was as well. Athinar turned to Kor and said, "Wonder what's going on down there. Dunno what that construct is doing, but whatever it is, it's got the attention of Flamebrain and Bug-arse." | Name: Athinar Gol-Gaia
Physical Form:
Tall, well-muscled, and stable, he is the pinnacle of physical perfection, even by the standards of some who would call themselves 'Immortal'. He is 6'8", and weighs at 300 pounds, in his normal form.
In his alternate form, he gains a sentient sword, and a set of armor which is actually part of him. In this form, sometimes his face is visible, but more often than not, he keeps his mask on. He is 7'0" even, and weighs 450 pounds.
Abilities:
Normal Form / Carnage Form - Athinar has decided to forgo magic that affects others, in favor of a magic that supplements his already impressive strength. His Carnage Form is a shell, which looks like armor, but actually is a super-dense exoskeleton. While in this form, he is significantly slower, but is immensely more powerful in terms of strength and defense.
Summon: Carnage Blade - Athinar has the ability to summon his Carnage blade at any time, however it is smaller and less impressive when he's not in Carnage form, although it still is alive, and speaks to him. The blade's name is Requiem. what the sword looks like, except with glowing red runes down the middle.
(Normal Form - Rock Style) Blood Palm - Athinar uses the blood spilled by anyone, including his own, in a fight, to empower his fist's attack.
Martial Arts - Athinar was trained in three forms of martial arts by the monks. However, he is only the equivalent of a black belt in one, and slightly competent in the others.
(Skilled)Rock Style - Athinar stays solid, and in place, for the most part. He uses his fists, elbows, and occasionally trips the enemy, but tries to keep his feet steady. For if he can, not much in the terms of human force can move him, but if anyone has trained in Windstance (or was strong enough), they could move him through sheer momentum and weight transfer.
(Beginner)The Path of the Cyclone - Not so much a martial art as a series of moves, executed one after the other, this unarmed style is used to fight large groups of enemies. There are twelve moves altogether, in three groups. However, Athinar was only taught the first group, and cannot continue the momentum of the Path.
- Leaping Tornado: Athinar lunges forward, landing among his enemies.
- Unseen Tempest: Athinar waits three seconds for enemies to close in, ready to strike.
- Stormblade: Athinar ducks down beneath a man's weapon, and elbows him in the chest/neck area.
- Cyclone Kick: Athinar does a roundhouse kick, tripping all surrounding enemies.
However, these are usually poorly executed, due to lack of training.
(Beginner) Celestial Mirage - This is possibly the martial art that he's learned that he has the most trouble with. It is a kick-based martial art, one that forces you to maintain patience. It's attacks come in bursts, to draw the enemy out, and allow the student to analyze the situation. However bad Athinar is with this, it was still one of the arts he learned from the monks, and he views it as a useful, albeit F*CKING INFURIATING skill.
Personality: Athinar gets intense pleasure from seeing other creature's blood. No matter the circumstances, or whether he is allied with them or not. When he is not getting excited by bloodlust, he is usually a very calm, collected individual, who is quite intelligent, surprisingly. When blood is near, he turns into a vicious man, taking pleasure in drawing blood, tasting it, etc. Afterwards, he is, shall we say, *ahem* easily excitable. If you know what I mean. However, this doesn't mean that he's not smart. He is extremely smart, in his bloodlust, and will be able to craft plans on the fly, if they end in violence and killing.
Relationships:
Emily- Thinks that the homunculus is beneath his attention, generally, unless she does something big and shiny.
That Which Consumes Peace- A fool, disobeying the Boss, but made a nice save, getting Shukra mildly punished.
Ekushka- Hasn't met her yet.
Narza- Is quite fond of the little ghost, curretly.
Shukra- A pompous ass who fails at commanding.
Darkwraith Kor- A good fighter, like Athinar, who shares his bloodlust. Enjoys his company.
Azavarn- Too flamboyant.
Umbra/Christopher- Thinks that Christopher is a bit off, but doesn't know why.
Torrens- Doesn't have any opinion of him, but thinks that a fire demon might be useful.
Clotho- Has a strange fixation on Clotho's chitin.
Twitch- Has disdain for the ratty, well, twitchy kobold. Maybe if he actually did something, he might be useful.
Backstory: Athinar is the reincarnated form of an ex-Dungeon Keeper, banished from his former world, and born to a new life in this one. However, he don't remember shit, and the only benefits were the impressive physical abilities you see today. He was born to an order of monks, who trained him in every combat style, unarmed and armed. However, this revealed his darker secret, his love for shedding blood. Killing them all, he was guided by a voice in his head, who told him that if he joined with him, he'd get to kill, kill, and keep killing. So he met up with the Dungeon Keeper, and started killing.
Other: If Athinar seems too powerful, remember that he was converted to the Dungeon Keeper's cause by him just saying that he could kill people if he joined him. He's not dumb, but he does have quite the one-track-mind, and is quite susceptible to manipulation, in both forms. Like, REALLY susceptible. A novice hypnotist could put him to sleep. |
9,474 | 268 | 33 | 1,512 | 202 | Emily finished her song, thankfully almost done by the time the fire creature - Torrens, she thought his name was, and his nature was certainly interesting to the point Emily would have to see how he dealt with Empyrean at a later date - came down to speak with her. He complimented her songe, which Emily always liked. So few of the Keeper's minions appricated her singing talents. And then he asked what the run did, as it held a pulse for several seconds, and then sank into the ground.
"It's both a beacon and a gate" She explained, before the bug-woman also appeared, just in time for the first Fire Spirit to fly out of the ground. There was no giant eruption, no ripping of the earth, no disterbance of any kind, since the spirits where not physical enough to do anything on this plane. And then more came, around thirty in all aproximation, from all over the village, everywhere the rune had encompassed.
The Fire Spirits where very close to the human's idea of a 'demon'. Firy, legless beings with a hot-headed nature and rather erratic flight patterns, they could be rather intimidating to one that did not know them. However, they ignored the three on the ground - as per Emily's instruction - and instead went for the cadavers. The spirits could clearly be seen scrapping with each other for who could inhabit the limited number of souless husks, and so some where inevitably pushed into the more wounded of bodies. The unlucky ones had to settle for the bodies terribly mutilated, and barely human at all, but still more physical than what they where.
"That, is what it does. And, that is what I was waiting here for. I am glad that nobody tried to interupt me while I was doing that. Small rituals are fine, but something this size would be likely to spill Muspelheim into our realm, and make the area contained in this rune an eternal super-lava pit, and the increase in temprature would affect everything for miles and miles, which would basically screw up the eco-system and, in fifty or so years, make this a hunk of rock with a highly unpredictable weather pattern" She told the two, looking out to the spirits.
The ones who had managed to get bodies that where intact spent a few moments working out how everything moved, and getting used to their new abilities and limitations. The maimed humans, who missed chunks of their body, began to leak out fire from the wounds, and would - in several hours - make Abominations or more likely, obliterate their hosts entirely.
"So, I think I have just sorted out the central heating problem in the Dungeon" she joked, giggling to herself as she touch her - broken - nose and then grimiced in pain. "Ow....remind me to work on the flying when we get back" she grumbled, clearly not in anyway skeptical or wary of the two minions. | Name: Narza (unable to remember her last name)
Physical Form:
Chimeric Specter
Narza is an amalgamation of a wide variety of souls, brought about by a somewhat mediocre dark mage named Derrik. The dark mage combined, a few dozen tormented human souls, the soul of an innocent young human girl, freshly killed to serve as the catalyst, and three different Elementals, one of Wind, one of Water, and one of Darkness. Dreaming of power and infamy, Derrik aimed to create a fearsome tri-element familiar and make his familiar’s personality more easily controlled by using a young girl’s soul as the base. While the dark mage succeeded in fusing the souls, one of his more mediocre points showed in his binding abilities.
The chimeric spirit broke free and consumed the dark mage the split-second after it was born. Because the chimeric spirit hadn’t settled and solidified, it ended up absorbing the dark mage into its core, giving it some of the abilities of the dark mage as well. A battle for dominance over the soul ensued. The dark mage, already weakened by the fusion process, was unanimously dealt with by the other souls. The elementals fell next, overwhelmed by the many insane human souls. With the elementals gone, the tormented souls fell upon each other, tearing each other apart in mindless agony. In the end, only the soul of the young girl, added most recently (aside from the dark mage), was left intact. Her name was Narza.
Magic and Abilities:
Invisibility (turn invisible, simple for a ghost)
Incorporeal Form (she actually can’t touch things if she tried, currently)
Soul Steal (steal a target’s soul, works better on weaker and weakened targets)
Devour soul (grow stronger by consuming a soul, stronger souls are more difficult to consume but are worth more. Slightly increases her magical power.)
Possess Husk(take control of a soulless body. Allows Narza to take a physical form and use that body’s magic at a fraction of its strength. She can’t preserve its health until stronger.)
Elemental Affinity for Water/Ice
Elemental Affinity for Wind/Air
Flight (ghosts can naturally fly)
Resistant to poison (How would you poison a ghost?)
Soul Sense (Sense souls around Narza, souls have to be sensed before they can be interacted with afterall)
Soul Replacement (put a soul back into a soulless body.)
Locked: (until more souls are eaten and she grows stronger)
Soul Scour (rip apart a soul for information. Narza can learn a magic if she rips apart enough souls that know that magic. Also aids in digestion.)
Corporeal Form (become solid, taking any appearance)
Elemental Affinity for Darkness
Soul Fusion (combine stolen souls.)
Lightning (subtype of Wind/Air)
Weaknesses:
Fire/Heat
Earth
Holy/Light Magic
Sanctified ground/equipment
Holy Water (somewhat nullified by Water/Ice Affinity)
Due to Narza’s Wind/Water/Darkness affinity and spirit body, she’s doubly vulnerable to light and heat. She also can’t pass through the ground like normal ghosts until she’s stronger. Additionally, Narza cannot learn any magic of opposing elements. Has no skill with weapons.
Personality: Innocent, naive, and terribly hateful. Has the personality of a young girl, the ambition of a failed dark mage, and the hatred and anger of many dozens of tormented souls. As a former twelve-year old, Narza little knowledge of the world save for the bits absorbed from her shredded inhabitants, but is curious and sharp. She’s also spiteful and mischievous, with little moral direction even without factoring in the dark mage in her. When the malice of the tormented souls wrests free of her control as they will from time to time, she’ll seemingly lose her temper without warning. Occasionally, she will ask you for your soul out of the blue when her hunger gets to be too much.
Wants/Needs: Souls, especially magical ones or those of mages.
Relationships: Likes to hang out with fellow spirits such as Narza and Umbra.
Backstory: The dark mage Narza consumed left behind a slight sense of loyalty and responsibility to the Dungeon Keeper, so she asked to serve as well, and was accepted. She has inherited the Derrik's possessions, which are:
Basic clothing: Musty dark mage robes, all black and nefarious-looking. And smelling. Narza wouldn't wear them even if she could. (Not that she floats around naked, mind you. She wears what she wore when she died (but will be able to change that later.))
Basic alchemy set
Alchemy ingredient shelf, poorly stocked (previous owner wasn't big on alchemy)
Ritual circle, high-class but defective (Since Narza was able to break free)
Enchanted storage ring, low level, holding dust, empty alchemy flasks, and dirty clothing (has a capacity space of two square meters)
Basic elemental spell tomes: A beginner's guide to Fire Magic, A beginner's guide to Water Magic, A beginner's guide to Wind Magic, A beginner's guide to Earth Magic, A beginner's guide to Dark Magic (laying in a disorderly pile on the floor.)
Arlog's Thesis on soul-binding - Abridged version (another tome
Binding and Sealing - All you need to take a Familiar (Well leafed magic tome, and frozen solid)
Enchanted dagger, for rituals and self-defense. (Never dulls, and is sharper and tougher than normal. Holds a sinister miasma since it has been immersed in dark magic and taken the lives of many innocents in cold blood. Nothing special though.)
Scrying orb of low quality (See distant locations, but only from far away, or a specific location, but must have been there before.)
Staff of Darkness (An enchanted length of wood that make using dark magic slightly easier. Even a level One mage would start with better gear than this.
Mana-recovery trinkets (Barely worth wearing, and also too gaudy.)
Various spell books (all shelved, that Narza can't get to yet since she isn't corporeal. )
Enchanted treasure chest (enchanted to resist weather effects and only open to the owner, holding a mix of souls from different races)
Other: Would be classified as an Assassin/Mage I suppose. Will do anything for a soul. |
9,475 | 268 | 34 | 268 | 1,389 | Torrens stood upright as all the Fire Spirits burst out of the ground and flew across the village, hunting for bodies. He smiled at the sight of fire everywhere, despite the fact that it wasn't burning anything.
"That, is what it does. And, that is what I was waiting here for. I am glad that nobody tried to interupt me while I was doing that. Small rituals are fine, but something this size would be likely to spill Muspelheim into our realm, and make the area contained in this rune an eternal super-lava pit, and the increase in temprature would affect everything for miles and miles, which would basically screw up the eco-system and, in fifty or so years, make this a hunk of rock with a highly unpredictable weather pattern"
"That sounds pretty good, actually. Could you do that some time?" Torrens said, with a laugh to let the others know that he wasn't entirely serious. An eternal lava pit would be exactly what Torrens wanted, although destroying the world to have it may make some of his allies a little unhappy. "Maybe just a small one."
"So, I think I have just sorted out the central heating problem in the Dungeon"
Torrens' face lit up at the thought. "Yes! About time we fixed that."
"Ow....remind me to work on the flying when we get back"
"I could help with that. I've got some experience with rocket flight," Torrens offered. He was sincere, since he was starting to like Emily. She was useful- she generated fire, he ate it. He could see the benefit of staying on her good side.
Looking around to the rising bodies, and the village which was now empty save for the zombies and themselves, Torrens remarked, "I think we're done here. I'll see if I can get back to the Dungeon without burning down too much forest." He waved to Clotho and Emily and started the trek back to the Dungeon. | Name
Umbra
Physical Form
Umbra
Umbra has no real physical form, but rather takes control of various objects most often statues, and in rare occasions even people or animals. In order to get around this Umbra does have a human companion that he uses as a temporary body if the situation calls for it.
Christopher
His companion is a small child named Christopher who is around the age of 7 who stands at just under 4’. The child looks like a normal human commoner, and wears nothing but very simple clothing, a plain white t-shirt and light brown pants (both loosely fitted and slightly torn). Christopher looks very unkempt and often appears covered in dirt and grime.
Abilities
Umbra
-Possess:Umbra attempts to take complete control of the person or object for an unlimited amount of time if successful. If the object is inanimate and is unprotected from magical wards then Umbra can possess it with ease. If he is trying to posses something protected by a magical ward or something that is living than it is slightly more difficult, and if the person is strongly willed or if the object in mention is protected by a powerful enough ward than Umbra will become unable to posses said object and will become unable to repossess something for the next twelve hours.
-Inanimate Possession: If Umbra takes control of an inanimate object than he will be able to move around as that object as if it was another living being, only without the physical limitations of a normal human either, granting him as much as four times the physical capabilities of the average human.
-Living Possession: If Umbra takes control of a living being than he is able to interact with people as if he was one. Though this comes with the risk of failure due to the person’s willpower and their own physical limitations, it is often the easiest way for Umbra to get around.
-Trapped in Purgatory: When Umbra is not taking possession of an object or person he is unable to interact with the world of the living or be seen by those who inhabit it.
-Frozen Touch: If Umbra is able to pierce or cut a living thing or object it will immediately begin to freeze until the person or object is completely frozen (It can take upwards of two days to become fully frozen from a minor cut, but a major wound can take as little time as an hour). The only way to prevent this is from fully happening is by cutting off the afflicted wound, using advanced healing magic or any kind of fire based magic to stop the spread.
-Enemy of the light: When Umbra takes possession of a person or object he is unable to walk around or move in direct sunlight or any source of light as strong as sunlight, as well as unable to leave the possessed body because of it (fire lit rooms don’t affect him). If he comes into contact with any form of shade he is able to continue as if he wasn’t in sunlight.
-Personality Disorder: When Umbra takes possession of a living being he will adopt that person’s characteristics and personality completely.
-Flight: When Umbra is not taking possession of a person or object he is able to naturally fly from location to location at immense speeds.
Personality
Umbra
Umbra is often extremely apathetic showing little care for morality or others around him beyond achieving his own goals and surviving. This makes him not inherently evil nor inherently good, but rather someone who will chooses the quickest and cleanest solution to solving a problem.
Christopher
Christopher is extremely outgoing and talkative for a small child. His childlike behavior is often easily noticed, and sometimes will go out of his way to show this to those around him. He is extremely naive and will attempt to befriend anyone or anything he sees. Much like Umbra, over the couple of years Christopher has spent with him he began to lose any concern over morality. Often seeing killing or other despicable activities as normal things that you must do in order to survive.
Wants/Needs
He has two ultimate goals, to find a permanent body of his own, one that doesn’t age, need rest, or get exhausted, and to be able to move freely in the sunlight. He is convinced that “the master” will be able to one day provide this to him or at the very least find him someone who can.
Relationships
Umbra holds a close relationship with Christopher. The small child being the closest thing he could have to his son he began to grow fond of him. Eventually befriending Christopher.
Backstory
Once a wealthy man named Jackson Rider, Umbra lead a life with little care until he found a beautiful woman named Rosana, who promised to marry him if he proved that he wasn’t only wealthy, but brave. Eventually he came to the conclusion the only way to prove this was to defeat a witch outside of the village, and bring back her head to show all of the towns people. As a week passed by he prepared buying weapons, armor, and potions to eventually defeat this witch.
Eventually the time came and he set off on his journey, eventually arriving within two days. The witch though proved much more powerful than he had ever expected. To her, he was nothing but a mere bug waiting to be squashed maybe even less so. Before striking him down she found it more interesting to curse him instead. “A child born without soul to the newly wed wife. A husband to a weeping woman and a child without purpose in life. Forsaken by god and forsaken by man. Simply to prove one's bravery matches his wealth hand to hand.”
It wasn’t long before he arrived home with feelings of failure and confusion. When he went to tell Rosana of his failure, she accepted him saying “an honest man is more virtuous and worthy of being my husband than the bravest of men,” and so they married. It wasn’t long until his wife told him of her pregnancy and the child was born not long after and was named Christopher. Sadly much like the witch had told him long ago his child was born without a soul.
That day he journeyed to the witches hut, leaving behind both his wife and child. He begged and cried for forgiveness. For the witch to lift the curse on his son. She smiled wickedly and whispered. “Death will be both your salvation and your punishment.” She quickly pulled out a dagger and stabbed Umbra through the chest, whispering a chant.
When he finally awoke he was greeted by the witch. “You are no longer man nor are you demon, simply Umbra taker of lives. Forced to walk in the shoes of others and the shadows of the night. Enjoy your son’s soul for yours.”
After many years after that day, how many exactly is unknown to him, he slowly began to desire what he once lost many years ago. Eventually he stumbled upon the dungeon keeper. Sensing his power and strength he decided it would be best to seek his help. They eventually they came to a compromise, if Umbra helps him achieve his goals he will one day return the favor.
Other
-If Umbra is in the body of a living person and said living person suffers a fatal wound Umbra will not die, but rather he would suffer a great amount of pain and will be unable to possess a body for a great deal of time (usually around a couple of weeks).
-There is no real way to permanently ‘kill’ Umbra, rather you can banish him to another plane of existence. While this can be accomplished through powerful spells or other magical means, the easiest way to do this would be to destroy his possessed body completely before the possessed can die. (Note: He can technically leave the possessed body at anytime so this would be best accomplished if he was under direct sunlight, or if it was by surprise.) |
9,476 | 268 | 35 | 538 | 2,678 | The battle, if it could even be called that, was swiftly coming to a close. Any meaningful resistance had been crushed, and any that had a will to fight were col corpses. At least, until their bodies were possessed and animated by the fiery spirits summoned by Emily. The Dungeon Keeper drew this morning's event to a close with yet another telepathic signal, though this one was not to his champions that had done the fighting.
Rather, the signal was sent to the hordes of imps that had been lurking in the woods a ways off while this happened. Now that they had been told that the fighting was done, the defenders gone, and the village ripe for plunder, the cowardly demons ran for the village with their mouths almost salivating. As the hundred or eager demons surged out of the treeline, they swept across the land like a crimson wave of blood. They poured into each and every building, scouring every crevice. They found a surprising amount of the villagers alive inside the homes, as several had simply hid in their closets or beneath their beds when they heard the sound of fighting.
In any case, when there were five of the cowardly imps against one or two terrified women or children, the demons turned out to be not so craven after all. The people that they found were dragged outside, as was anything remotely valuable. Tools, food, jewelry, even furniture was stolen. A few imps went about ripping doors out of their frames. Having no scruples, the depraved minions even found their way to the village cemetery and defiled its sanctity with their grave robbing. The demons butchered all of the livestock to bring back the meat and hides, then set about emptying the granaries. The only way that the scene could have been more sickening would have been if Emily had not turned the corpses into flame zombies; imps tended to carry small daggers not only to torture the dying, but only so that they could loot slain enemies. They were known to cut off fingers in order to take rings, and use the pommel of their daggers to smash out any golden teeth.
By the time that the morning had turned to midday, the imps had thoroughly looted the entire settlement; after all, imps are notoriously quick and efficient when it comes to sacking hamlets. A dozen of the nefarious creatures drew a circle in the middle of the village, and set out performing a dark ritual. After a long incantation and sacrificing a few victims, they had created a portal into the dungeon, which they promptly used to begin taking back all of their ill-gained loot. Any servants of the Overlord that hadn't already left to march back to the dungeon could simply take the portal, sparing them the short walk. Several of the imps stayed behind for a while to burn down the rest of the village. They would leave the humans nothing to reclaim save ash. Not even the remains of their countrymen would be left behind, for Emily had put those corpses to good use.
Once everybody had returned, one of the larger chambers of the cave system was cleared. Every human captive and looted object was to be displayed there for the Horde to claim and split up as they saw fit. A short time after the meeting was assembled and most everyone had showed up, the shadows in the room began to twitch. The champions, most likely quarreling over their pick of loot and prisoners, might not have noticed the change. Some of the terrified prisoners chained by the wall did, however, for the shadows' motion was accompanied by an aura of dread and choking evil. Their soft hearts were not used to such sensations yet.
Suddenly the shadow of every object in the dimly lit chamber began to crawl across the floor, converging in one point. The shadows themselves having moved, the room was strangely bright, lit by some sort of foreboding red glow as the darkness began to recede into one corner and then coalesce. After a few moments, the shadows twisted and swirled, the imposing figure of the Master manifesting itself. His dramatic entrance complete, the shadows sprinted back to where the belonged.
With a dark grin, the Dungeon Keeper stepped forth. His demonic voice spoke out with the cadence of steel grinding on stone, "Well done. That hamlet is no more, and ever faithful to my orders, none escaped. Of course, I expected nothing less."
Those of the human captives that were missing family members or friends choked at that statement, but they dared not speak. They would not utter so much as a word in this horrific place, surrounded by countless nightmarish demons and monsters.
A subtle grin appeared on the warlock's visage, a rare look of crass amusement. "So, on to business... For my share of spoils, I shall take only ten slaves."
With a mere flick of his wrist ten of the humans vanished into thin air, the empty shackles that had bound them clattering onto the stone floor.
Having taken his toll, the Dungeon Keeper was now content to let his followers claim their loot from the small hoard. Once the meeting had achieved that much, the topic would move on to their the thoughts of the various denizens of the dungeon, and then they would likely be left to their own devices for a time while their master set about working on his next plot. | Name: Whatever his real name is, he hasn't told any of his minions. He demands to be called the Overlord, Master, Dungeon Keeper, or simply 'boss'.
Physical Form: He may appear to be just human, a simple warlock, but make no mistake: possessing that frail human body is an ancient and incredibly powerful demon. The demon's unadulterated malevolence is made visible to the eye by the glowing lines and strange symbols that adorn his face, and his crimson eyes that seem to reflect the deepest pits of hell like a lake reflects the moon.
Abilities: The Dungeon Keeper is essentially a demigod; he is aware of everything that happens inside his own dungeon (and with some simple magic he can see what is happening elsewhere), with a flick of his wrist he could incinerate a dozen people, and overall he could match at least five or six of his champions at once, blow for blow. On top of this he is a powerful warlock, capable of performing all manner of black magic, summoning monstrous beasts or brokering deals with other demons.
He has two fatal weaknesses, however: the first is his human form. He is not the sort of demon that is a massive hulk of red flesh; he is stuck within this fragile body, and while he is harder to kill than a normal human he is still an easy target for any that can withstand his might for long enough to retaliate. His second weakness is that all of his power stems from what he refers to as his Dungeon Heart, and so this heart must be protected at all costs. For these two reasons, don't expect to see him fighting much. He'll have his champions doing that sort of dirty work.
Personality: He is ruthless, seemingly without compassion or care for anything. Brutal and valuing effectiveness over all other traits, one of the quickest ways to his good side is to obey his orders and exceed his expectations. He is not much for words, and not terribly approachable either. Still, if one of his minions hatched a devious enough plan, he might at least listen and consider it.
Wants/Needs: He's utterly hellbent upon enslaving the mortal races and conquering the world.
Relationships: Unless listed otherwise, he feels rather neutral towards your character, or hasn't been left with any impression.
Twich - He's watching this one. Twich seems both competent and useful, so the Master likes him.
That Which Consumes Peace - The Dungeon Keeper is rather agitated with him, after the incident with Shukra.
Shukra - Shukra seems rather ballsy and arrogant. Even though the Master took Shukra's side, he still feels that the warlord might need to be put in his place.
Athinar - Bold, and seems like he might be a good leader. While he doesn't necessarily like Athinar, he will humor his request and grant him a few chances to prove himself as a leader.
Backstory: This invasion of his has been years in the planning; for many centuries he writhed in the abyss of the infernal realm, until he finally managed to escape into this world. Then, he lurked in the darkness, always on the run, biding his time until he sensed that the time was right. Now, that time has come, and through various means he's been gathering together a horde of evil the likes of which this world hasn't seen in thousands of years. |
9,477 | 268 | 36 | 1,270 | 2,337 | Octavius had bared witness to much this day, he watched as everyone ran about like children, most of them anyways. One thing for certain was he saw was many strengths and weaknesses, powers being used after cooped up inactivity to far too long. It was expected for everyone to play to their strengths and one-up each other while the human had nothing to show for it. No souls, no treasure, no blood on his blade. Just a potion of light curing, about as much as he would have gotten from a goblin warcamp.
Most important of all, though, was witnessing the keepers power in the form of the crimson tide of imps. He actually tried to keep a head count to track them all and measure them as a whole as to their physical strength or obvious weaknesses to fire or the like. He watched the imps raid and raze it all to ruin and finally open a portal. He tried to memorize the ritual in case he would ever need it.
Through the portal, he joined the rest to mill about, waiting the the keeper who arrived in a splendid display of power. He offered such a grand entrance a polite applaud as it deserved but was surprised that his claim was a mere ten people. Intruiged,he quietly cast a detection spell to look for any magic amidst the slaves or the items, looking for arcane or holy auras. | Name:
Tiberius Octavius Pulcher, "The Dashing Bastard"
Physical Form: "I put the gore in gorgeous!"
6'6" and 300 of tight body tone. Unarmored, he has a score of scars running him over from a decade in the arenas. His eyes are a fine gray with a catlike shimmer of silver in the back.
Abilities:
Curse; The cornerstone of the hexblade, the ability to lay a witches malicious befuddlement upon intended targets. Not an attack in of itself, it is a go-to weakening of the enemy before engaging. He often pairs the curse with a memorized intimidation to follow up and bring most to cower before finishing them off in a single blow.
Resistance; Like a paladin, he can rely on his sheer strength of will to help shrug off attacks to mind body and soul.
Mettle: Those that he cannot avoid, he tries do bear down and endure, taking the lesser of the worlds woes when he has the chance.
Prestidigitation: Because of the hexblade's calling, Octavius' desire to know more about his arcane abilities manifests itself beyond the ability to curse and the he is able to cast minor prestidigitations at will.
(Item) familiar: Where most would bond to a creature from elsewhere for more power, he has strengthened the bond with his sword to a supernatural level.
Aura of unluck: Once per day Octavius can create a baleful aura of misfortune. Any melee or ranged attack made against the hexblade while this aura of unluck is active has a higher miss chance. Activating the aura is a free action, and the aura lasts for a full minute.
Spells: Like a sorcerer, he uses his sheer strength of will to manifest magic in the world. He just severely lacks the dedication most others would possess by this time.
0 Message
0 Dancing lights
0 Mage hand
0 Detect magic
0 Acid splash
0 Distupt undead
1 True strike
1 Shocking grasp
1 Color spray
1 Identify
2 Eagle splendor
2 Flaming sphere
Personality:
Truly Octavius' greatest strength is his overwhelming charisma, wielded as a weapon as much as his sword. He brings it to bear to cow the most stalwart of enemies and draw up the crowds to a screaming frenzy in the arena.
He is a patient man in combat, often letting the others go first before he devastates them.
He had devoted his life to death, Hades specifically, as a way to deal with the loss of his family. But one can only lash out for so long. In time the burn in his hearth grew cold and hollow so he turned to ways to fill the hole, most often drinking and tavern wenches. But in the end he still fell back to his oldest friend, death. Its more of a bad habit than an addiction, but every week he makes his way to some manner of arena to put himself in the ring.
He's smarter than he ever lets on, by no means is he a genius with lifetimes of knowledge. He's just more experienced that he'd like to be in the way the world works. The best thing he always reminds himself 'always assume they are better than you in every way and plan to fail'.
Relationships:
Since his arrival, he has taken a keen interest in Tinkerhel, She might be a nymphomaniac, but he thinks there is a whole lot more going on in her head.
Backstory:
Octavius' tale is not at twisted as many might think. His parents were simple farmers, his grandfather was a retired army officer who was too maimed to bear spear. When his chores were done for the day, his grandfather would train him in a longsword so big the boy needed both hands to wield it.
Suns rose and set for a decade until the boy on cusp of manhood could now wield the longsword in a single hand. But now he was starting to think with the dagger between his knees and had his eye on the girl across the creek. They were promised to each other and their parents agreed to the union. Sadly, the fates have more in mind than a happy farmer.
A merchant cart heavy with goods came to the farm, asking for a night in the barn for a few silver, all was well until the bandits climbed out of crate and pot to slaughter the family. The boy did well by all accounts, with no armor and only a sword older than him to keep himself safe as he killed the bandit leader while the others ran. As he burned the bodies, he was visited by a lady paladin of Hercule and her ancient wizard. One of his first life lessons about the bigger world would be that halflings and dwarves clearly age differently.
She could see he was strong, strong enough to carry her stuff as his squire as he had nothing left for him here, indeed, he had no other ways to go but with them or try his own. He tried to learn magic cantrips from the wizard but had no luck compared to the combat she refined from what his father gave him. She was teaching him how to fight in armor, a skill he lacked, when they came upon a wizard of the dead.
They made their way to the wizards workshop when they came to discover he was just finishing his ritual to litchdom. The paladin took the undead in a full body tackle while the other two destroyed the phylactery, the wizard found it while Octavius shattered the device but it was too late to save her from its evil magic. The magic of the ritual burned its way into him and changed him to his very core.
Other:
His hat he got from a pirate captain to whom he served upon a ship for a year before a monster afflicted her, her hats own bubble of air was her own undoing.
At one time, he came upon a princess tiara as part of his treasure pull from a successful kidnapping of royalty. In order to dispose of the royal artifact, he had the enchantment transfered to a single jewel worn as a third eye and let them keep the rest of the encrusted property one worn by a queen as payment.
While worn, a third eye conceal protects the wearer from view by all devices, powers, and spells that detect, influence, or read emotions or thoughts. This power protects against all mind-affecting powers and effects as well as information-gathering by clairsentience powers or effects.
Given his propensity for tavern wenches and the like, he was quick to acquire a trinket from the temple of Aphrodite The wearer of this blue gem on a silver chain is immune to disease, including supernatural diseases.
Collected from the skin of a displacer beast, he had its pelt fashioned into his sleeveless longcoat with its powers still within the folds.
Worn inside out to hide its value, he keeps a vest once worn by a pyromancer who was dumb enough to think his innerfire was more powerful than a white dragon. Octavius managed to convince the dragon that the vest would melt the beasts home so he would take it far away while the dragon ate the former wizard for lunch.
Collected from a gnome adventuring party, he managed to run three through on his blade but only kept the one treasure.
1) Mount
2) Slumber
3) Phantasmal Killer
A most useful glove he keeps on hand, it once belonged to an assassin who would use it to bring all manner of gear in a backpack hidden in the stitching. When not used to hide his sword from public eye, he is often known to put his hand into a bucket full (20 pints/2.5 gallons) of holy water and secure it away for dealing with fiery or unholy creatures.
Two small but simple rings in his line of work,
A dwarven ring warded to protect the wearer from evil is actually a good choice when traveling with evil on a daily basis.
As powerful as a ring of invisibility, but far better for him as it makes eight more of him appear rather than make him vanish.
Made from the hide of a Steel dragon parading around as a priestess to Athena, she was fought and slain on her monthly hunt while she was fat and full of a heard of sheep they had left for her as an ambush. When crafted into armor, he had the choice to make the leather immune to acid or protect the wearer from poison, he took the poison protection. In truth it protects him as a full suit of armor as strong as platemail but glamored to be debatable levels of leather and hide piecemeal to suit his ego.
A prize from the arenas, once worn by a master of unarmed combat, this rope belt keeps him far more flexible than he ever could be without it.
Acquired from a fellow raider, a barbarian far from home who could outrun almost anything but a cup of envenomed wine.
These boots let him move faster than normal for moments at a time, acting as a blur when speed was needed over power.
Tattoo:
Psychoactive skin:
Morningstar
An lesser weapon best put to use when three feet of steel isn't recommended. He really hopes to replace it with a mace of disruption soon enough.
Shield
There are times when running around half naked with a greatsword isn't the best plans. When he has to play the defensive position, he uses a heavy shield with a depiction of Gaia upon it as she is of the earth as is hades.
Throwing Axe
When he needs to reach out and touch someone. He is also known to take a moment for himself to relax with all manner of pungent herb or alchemical paste into the bowl on the back.
His gift from beyond. Once, when he was a much younger lad, he traveled as a squire under a paladin of Hercules and her elderly wizard friend into the keep of a vile necromancer. Unfortunately there is a big difference between necromancer and a newly formed litch! Thinking quickly, the paladin took her bag of holding and threw it over them both to pop it away into a pocket realm for just a few seconds as the squire smashed the Phylactery on the work table. The litch turned to dust within the bag and the paladin sacrificed herself for the greater good. Octavius had an idea. He had the wizard use his magic to transmute the holy cold-iron plate-mail of the paladin to the litch dust and he had a greatsword forged from the coldiron dust.
This weapon is a Bane of the undead both solid and ghostly. Its supernaturally keen edge can store the simplest of enchantments within its Damascus folds for release at his will.
Why would a worshiper of the god of death have such enmity to the undead? To KEEP them in Tartarus where they belong!
Recently, he came upon a Devil who had a gift for Octavius. It seems the litch he had defeated so long ago had tried to use the phylactery as a bypass from the devils due. If the litch had succeeded it would have been most embarrassing and bad for business. So out of gratitude he offered the man one gift on credit, not the usual freebie sort of thing but the 'finders fee' of a wayward soul.
Thinking about it, he could easily wish to be the most or the best or the richest... but he had seen how that can bite you in the ass with previous people so he chose to keep it smaller, something he could live without; an extra enchantment on his blade. The two bickered back and forth on the who or what to be done but Octavius was rather stringent on not asking for too much, lest he rely on it too far.
In the end he got an idea from an assassin he used to know and had a small ruby inset into the pommel of his sword. This ruby would trap the soul of every victim of his sword for later that he could bring back to the devil for more credit. So far, Octavius cant find a problem with the deal and that bothers him. |
9,478 | 268 | 37 | 2,751 | 60 | Interesting, Shukra said as he watched the spirits of fire erupt from the ground, using his little bit of magic to check their movements and what they were doing. "Very interesting." The orcs, oblivious to magic, were confused by his statement, but none dared to question him. He was to them as the Dungeon Keeper was to him. It gave him a little bit of satisfaction to have his little army of orcs. The forty he had with him now - ten seemed to have been lost, most of them likely to his own allies - were but a small force compared to what he had hidden away in the hills. He couldn't help but smile at the thought of their entire race at his foot. But, that was some ways away, and for now, there were other problems.
Such as the tidal wave of imps that poured out of the forest into the village. Shukra pulled a face of disgust. Imps were disgusting little creatures, hardly fit to be eaten, much less to serve anyone in any real capacity. But, the Master seemed to trust them, so he would not question him on this matter. What he would question was the one that eventually worked its way up to him and held its hand out for the prisoners. What the imp received was Shukra's boot in his face, sending blood and teeth flying as the creature was sent sailing away. "These are mine, vermin. Loot elsewhere." The menacing look and the threat of a second kick was enough to send the creature away, no doubt to report to the Master.
Shukra grunted, and sent his orcs away with the prisoners back home. They had strict orders to not harm them in any manner, unless they attempted escape, and then to integrate them back home. Shukra, however, had business elsewhere, unfortunately. He entered the village as the creatures finished their portal, and stepped within. And back in the dungeon they were, much to Shukra's dismay. They were conquerors, warlords, future kings and queens, lords and masters. They deserved more than just a stinking pit to come back to after a raid. He grimaced again, and found himself a place to sit, which was a simple wooden chair he'd managed to coerce an imp into retrieving for him. It creaked and groaned under his weight. He might have to use a prisoner as a stool if it broke.
The Master's entrance was... exasperating. Too much show and display of power. Whether it was for the prisoners or the "champions" didn't matter. It was an irritating show, and Shukra's expression and the finger against his temple showed it. He had respect for the creature that had given him a purpose, but these things were wastes of time. Even his claim seemed like a waste. Ten humans disappeared, and nothing else. Even he had managed to get more than that on his own. But, regardless, he did not say a word, did not move a muscle, and merely waited for everyone else to begin shouting their claims at each other before taking anything else. | Name: Shukra
Gender: Male
Race: Rakshasa
Physical Form: Standing at a proud seven feet even, Shukra is a monster to behold, with flowing black fur the color of ash with stripes that glow like flames. His eyes glow the orange of fire, and his maw is filled with razor sharp teeth like his tiger cousins. Each finger is tipped with a razor sharp claw, and a long tail swishes behind him. Few have survived the attempt of touching it. Adorning his body is a suit of ancestral armor, worn by the honor guard of the ancient Rakshasa emperors, made of an unknown metal and inlaid with gold. Aga, his sword, lays on his hip, made of the same metal as his armor and covered in a runes that glow like embers.
Skills/Abilities
Voice of the Emperor - A gentle reminder that he is your better. Every word he says will influence the thoughts of the weak willed and unintelligent towards what he wants.
Breath of the Dragon - Fire is his ally, and so he has garnered an immunity to its effects, and can manipulate natural fires or create his own through magic.
Strength of the Tiger - He is naturally tougher and stronger than most other races, and has, at one point, torn an orc chieftain in half with his bare hands.
Speed of the Snake - While he is not the fastest man to live, he can outrun any human with ease, and his reflexes are far superior to most others.
Blade of the East - He is a good swordsman, but by no means the best.
Personality: Shukra is confident that he, because of his race, if not himself as a person, is superior to all others, especially others. As such, he will rarely give the time of day to others he sees as below him, and those that he has managed to come to terms with as them being his equal, he will at least attempt to be civil with them, in his own special way as an ass. The rare occasion he'll find someone who has proven themself to be his superior, he's found an unnatural and unhealthy obsession with being under their service. Up until the point where he's confident enough to kill them and take their place, but with the current Dungeon Master, he is unsure of his ability to do so. However, he does have a soft spots for his servants, and gets legitimately enraged when he finds out his lackeys have been killed.
Wants/Needs: Shukra wants one thing: To restore the glory of the Rakshasa, even if he is the only one left. Land, subjects, and cities to lord over are what he wants, for those that are lesser than him to submit and become become his, one way or another. That, and to become strong enough to deserve the title of King.
Backstory: In the jungles to the east, there are stories of the rakshasas, demonic tiger men that lorded over lesser races. They were brought down by great heroes, or sealed away by powerful mages. But, there were some that managed to escape persecution by their servants and peasants. Shukra, once a steward and guard to a more powerful rakshasa. He escaped, and went into a dormant state. However, he was recently awakened by a clan of orcs, deep underground. Shukra is unsure of how he got there, but after slaying the chieftain of the orcs, he took command of their clan and drove them to the surface, forcing them to become strong, smart, cunning. He's lead them close to the surface, where others of their kind and other degenerates forced underground by the humans to hide and cower have gathered. That is where he shall begin his ascent, and return to glory.
Other: His sword, Aga, is made of an unknown metal and covered in red runes that glow like embers. Because of the magic in these runes, the sword is impervious to rust, will never dull, and will never dent, and is immune to all but the strongest of magics. He also has a clan of orcs under his command, which is convenient at times.
The Vorhaas Clan |
9,479 | 268 | 38 | 640 | 262 | When Ekusha arrived back at the cave, her pretentiousness had finally settled. She felt her powers were under-utilized during the raid, but she had a newfound appreciation for her colleagues. They were just as prideful as she was, but she could now empathize how they felt entitled to their attitudes. However, what had transpired this morning was essentially an extremely frustrating pissing contest, at least in her eyes.
Once the Master had taken his share of the loot, Ekusha politely refrained. Aside from not contributing as much as her peers, she had no desire for monetary gain and the emotionally and psychologically scarred humans would be of no use to her. The group wore a variety of expressions, but now they could finally hop on the same page. She took on her corporeal form to provide a face to her personality.
"I don't know about any of you, but I do not rest. I took notice of a few villages neighboring the one we've just raided. Since it's only mid-day, I think we should clean them out tonight, hopefully before any travelers or traders arrive to witness the ruin..."
"Now, I do not have the physical strength or magics to pursue combat like the rest of you, but without my body I am capable of much more..." Ekusha began roughly detailing her powers to any that would listen: how she could touch the minds of mortals, able to both read and communicate as either an internal organic thought or external voice. "Mortal minds are extremely impressionable and internally vocal, especially if they can convince themselves that the ideas flowing through their heads are their own. They have a vested interest in self-preservation, and every action they take is advantageous in their own eyes. I do not believe in conquer through chaos, rather one that still leaves the subject and all others around them believing they are succeeding through their own will. What makes it all even more available to me is because they constantly cycle through their thoughts, buffering pressing matters with trivial ones, and vice versa, depending on the situation most immediate to them."
"None of you have reason to trust me, but I plan to make a trip on at least one of these villages before dusk. If any of you wish to come with me, I would not be opposed. When I... or we... return, I suggest we organize ourselves for our next strike, whenever that may be. A series of contained destructions is not sustainable, not-so-subtle, and especially not preferable: suspicion leads to retaliation, and the element of surprise only diminishes with each iteration." | Ekusha, the Vain
Physical Form:5'4; petite build.
Tattoos animate (shift positions, change entirely, etc).
Long black hair, nearly reaching waist-level.
Pitch-black pupils.
Mezzo-soprano voice.
Abilities:Exerts influence upon lesser beings, mimicking hypnosis, through various means:
Fear, by preying on insecurities.
Lust, through worldly temptations.
Anger, with impassioned words.
Adapts and evolves external persona to thrive.
Leadership skill set, grand advisor:
Political strategist.
Military tactician.
Economic genius.
Incarnates at will into any one realm.
Can observe and interact without corporeal form.
Exists as a single Cartesian point.
Shapeshifter in physical being.
Personality:Externally appealing and persuasive, especially to lesser beings.
Knows how to kiss some ass to get her way.
Ambitious, but selfish and arrogant about her own success.
Vain when successful, and envious otherwise.
Wants/Needs: Ekusha desires attention in general, whether it be through worship, fame, or influence. Her spirit is immortal, but her power is derived from her more susceptible and impressionable followers (overworld inhabitants, weaker spirits, lesser angels/demons, etc). Her greatest fear is fading into irrelevance, and therefore she is compelled to substantially impose herself on others.
Relationships: Ekusha easily makes and breaks connections, enjoying a degree of self-imposed solitude when she feels is appropriate and dealing with others when it proves advantageous. In this new apocalypse, she is open to getting all the help she can, so long as she gets her cut.
Dungeon Keeper: -
Athinar Gol-Gaia: -
Yappo: -
Emily Kabal: -
That Which Consumes Peace: -
Narza: -
Tiberius Octavius Pulcher: -
Shukra, the Rakshasa: -
Kor, the Darkwraith: -
Tinkerhel: -
Azavarn: -
Umbra: -
Torrens Igneus: -
Clotho: -
Twitch, the Snakebiter: -
Wold, the Dragon: -
Backstory: Throughout time, Ekusha has played a variety of roles in various realms: from grand despot, to military commander, to religious icon, to many other minor roles. She has also, in other instances, fooled many into believing her to be a deity or demon, but she is merely a spirit with no true celestial or infernal affiliation. Her allegiance is ultimately towards herself.
She is cunning in her ways, seeking power in any form available to her. She enjoys being idolized, and being able to use her influence to subjugate all beings through speech and slaughter. She has fought countless battles, and fled her own destruction just as many times. She puts herself in constant conflict with the many idols the world has produced, and her power constantly cycles between significance and non-existence.
Now, Ekusha comes to the Dungeon Keeper in hopes of securing power. She wants to conquer for herself an empire that will last until eternity. She wants subjects across all lands, in all realms, that stand before her. She sees the Dungeon Keeper as a messiah, his apocalypse a revolution, and herself an empress in the making.
Other:Often found observing from the universal sidelines, when not inhabiting any particular realm.
Incalculable amounts of experience in rising to power, over the course of countless lifetimes. |
9,480 | 268 | 39 | 351 | 2,364 | Twich's arrival back at the Dungeon had been a quiet matter, simply slipping in with the other returning champions. Where others might have disliked being in the tunnels of their home base, the Kobold himself was more then comfortable in such an environment. In fact, a part of him felt that the tunnels were a bit to big, and not booby trapped and maze like enough to account for a proper defense! He made a mental note to speak with the Master about getting in contact with his tribe and trying to get them to move in... When it came to digging and protecting ones tunnel home, nothing was better then kobolds!
As the task of dividing the loot arose, one of Twich's peers came forwards with a suggestion to hit more villages while they still had the element of surprise. While Twich himself was little inclined to join such a venture, he could see the appeal of it easily enough. "If you powers are what you say they are, why not take the orcs with you? While your razing those villages to the ground you can implant in the heads of those fleeing that the orc tribes in the mountains to the north west must have found a way past the castle and into the southern lands to start raiding. No one will investigate to deeply because orcs actually did raid those villages, the local powers that be will send its military into the mountains to retaliate and no doubt be weaken by the conflict. The orcs in those mountains will also be weakened by the conflict and be pissed off about the unprovoked attack against them; Meaning that they will be easier to bring into the fold one way or the other."
"And to top it off, our existence gets largely ignored for the time being and we get a bit more loot. So really, I don't see a downside." | Name:
Twich
Physical Form:
Abilities:
Smarter then thou: What Twich lacks in physical strength and size, he makes up for with a cruel cunning, a twisted intellect and a surprisingly strong will.
Alchemist Training: There are only two things that an alchemist needs to be able to do in order to be a good alchemist; The ability to flip a table and be on the other side of it when what they are working on explodes and the ability to know exactly when to do this. Everything else is just icing on the cake.
If you don't want to eat it just because it has some mold growing on it, hand it over.: Twich is a kobold. They can eat just about anything regardless of how rotten its become just fine without ill effect. They are also immune to horrible smells that would make others sick.
Love the BOOM!: There is something about arson and explosions that just appeals to Twich's soul. The fact that he is very good at creating things that explode and set things on fire makes his inner hatchling very happy.
WHY?! FOR SCIENCE!: Twich doesn't always create or tamper with things to make them explode or catch fire (At least, not as the end goal). Often he likes to create concoctions or perform experiments for a large number of reasons, more often then not because he felt like it or just wants to see if the current theory in his head has any basis in reality.
Personality:
Those who meet Twich would surprisingly discover that he is, above everything else, quite civil. Those above or greater then him will get the recognition that they deserve of course but those of equal and even lower standing will be treated with professional, polite conversation when talking with Twich. They will also quickly discover that he is quite 'mad'; His mind seems to operate on a completely different wavelength then everyone around him and he often views the world far differently from other people as well.
If one really wants to see him in his prime however, all they need to do is suggest a possible alchemy or science experiment within Twich's hearing range. The quest for discovery and knowledge burns within him brighter then the flames of hell themselves; Despite this he has made it quite clear to several demons that have offered him deals for knowledge and alchemist/scientific discoveries in exchange for his soul that he is not interested because 'That was the path of cowards and fools'.
Even the most evil of beings would find the calm, professional and somewhat detracted approach that Twich takes with his experiments rather... unnerving. Almost all of his experiments are performed on live test subjects... often without their knowledge let alone consent.
Wants/Needs: A bigger lab, more resources and freedom to explore with his various fields of science and alchemy. First pick of any group of slaves and captives with no questions asked as to why he wants/needs them. The right to take any student that he wishes.
Relationships: Fairly civil, shows the needed respect to those that require it.
Backstory: Twich was born to the Snakebiter tribe, a kobold tribe that had its tunnels located underneath a somewhat poisonous swamp. Taken to be trained as an alchemist rather early on when he showed he had a knack for it, Twich rather quickly learned everything that his tribe knew about it and found himself consumed by the desire to learn more. At first traveling to other kobold tribes to study, Twich soon found himself learning from many of the other underworld denizens in exchange for his services; At times he even found teachers among the more open minded of the surface dwelling races. When he ran out of teachers who could offer him new knowledge, Twich wasn't satisfied. He needed to know more and that meant he needed to create more things to learn himself.
This is rather challenging as an independent working alone... but with the raise of the Master and his 'Hordes of Darkness', Twich found a patron who could make his dreams and desires a reality in exchange for his services.
Other: - |
9,481 | 268 | 40 | 1,270 | 2,337 | The hexblade looked over to the two most reasonable minds he knew in this place with a nod.
"You are right, anyone heading south is going to catch onto a missing village and report further north by the end of the day. I'll ride with you to help keep things quiet, just give me a second to get some different gear."
He listened to the kobold with a grin as he touched the vial from earlier. On one hand, he considered to keep it for later on the ride north or after a evening with the pixie he had waiting in his room, but the other was to return the unused supply at least as a token gesture for the dragonkin to refuse if he didn't need it. In the end the token gesture won out as he removed the philtre to hand it down to the scaled sage.
"Not a bad suggestion if we can borrow some orcs for the job. The only thing we need to make sure of is to route the orcs past the villages unseen then come back around to approach from the foothills on the northeast to make sure it looks right to direct the forces further away from the targets. Did you want this back?." | Name:
Tiberius Octavius Pulcher, "The Dashing Bastard"
Physical Form: "I put the gore in gorgeous!"
6'6" and 300 of tight body tone. Unarmored, he has a score of scars running him over from a decade in the arenas. His eyes are a fine gray with a catlike shimmer of silver in the back.
Abilities:
Curse; The cornerstone of the hexblade, the ability to lay a witches malicious befuddlement upon intended targets. Not an attack in of itself, it is a go-to weakening of the enemy before engaging. He often pairs the curse with a memorized intimidation to follow up and bring most to cower before finishing them off in a single blow.
Resistance; Like a paladin, he can rely on his sheer strength of will to help shrug off attacks to mind body and soul.
Mettle: Those that he cannot avoid, he tries do bear down and endure, taking the lesser of the worlds woes when he has the chance.
Prestidigitation: Because of the hexblade's calling, Octavius' desire to know more about his arcane abilities manifests itself beyond the ability to curse and the he is able to cast minor prestidigitations at will.
(Item) familiar: Where most would bond to a creature from elsewhere for more power, he has strengthened the bond with his sword to a supernatural level.
Aura of unluck: Once per day Octavius can create a baleful aura of misfortune. Any melee or ranged attack made against the hexblade while this aura of unluck is active has a higher miss chance. Activating the aura is a free action, and the aura lasts for a full minute.
Spells: Like a sorcerer, he uses his sheer strength of will to manifest magic in the world. He just severely lacks the dedication most others would possess by this time.
0 Message
0 Dancing lights
0 Mage hand
0 Detect magic
0 Acid splash
0 Distupt undead
1 True strike
1 Shocking grasp
1 Color spray
1 Identify
2 Eagle splendor
2 Flaming sphere
Personality:
Truly Octavius' greatest strength is his overwhelming charisma, wielded as a weapon as much as his sword. He brings it to bear to cow the most stalwart of enemies and draw up the crowds to a screaming frenzy in the arena.
He is a patient man in combat, often letting the others go first before he devastates them.
He had devoted his life to death, Hades specifically, as a way to deal with the loss of his family. But one can only lash out for so long. In time the burn in his hearth grew cold and hollow so he turned to ways to fill the hole, most often drinking and tavern wenches. But in the end he still fell back to his oldest friend, death. Its more of a bad habit than an addiction, but every week he makes his way to some manner of arena to put himself in the ring.
He's smarter than he ever lets on, by no means is he a genius with lifetimes of knowledge. He's just more experienced that he'd like to be in the way the world works. The best thing he always reminds himself 'always assume they are better than you in every way and plan to fail'.
Relationships:
Since his arrival, he has taken a keen interest in Tinkerhel, She might be a nymphomaniac, but he thinks there is a whole lot more going on in her head.
Backstory:
Octavius' tale is not at twisted as many might think. His parents were simple farmers, his grandfather was a retired army officer who was too maimed to bear spear. When his chores were done for the day, his grandfather would train him in a longsword so big the boy needed both hands to wield it.
Suns rose and set for a decade until the boy on cusp of manhood could now wield the longsword in a single hand. But now he was starting to think with the dagger between his knees and had his eye on the girl across the creek. They were promised to each other and their parents agreed to the union. Sadly, the fates have more in mind than a happy farmer.
A merchant cart heavy with goods came to the farm, asking for a night in the barn for a few silver, all was well until the bandits climbed out of crate and pot to slaughter the family. The boy did well by all accounts, with no armor and only a sword older than him to keep himself safe as he killed the bandit leader while the others ran. As he burned the bodies, he was visited by a lady paladin of Hercule and her ancient wizard. One of his first life lessons about the bigger world would be that halflings and dwarves clearly age differently.
She could see he was strong, strong enough to carry her stuff as his squire as he had nothing left for him here, indeed, he had no other ways to go but with them or try his own. He tried to learn magic cantrips from the wizard but had no luck compared to the combat she refined from what his father gave him. She was teaching him how to fight in armor, a skill he lacked, when they came upon a wizard of the dead.
They made their way to the wizards workshop when they came to discover he was just finishing his ritual to litchdom. The paladin took the undead in a full body tackle while the other two destroyed the phylactery, the wizard found it while Octavius shattered the device but it was too late to save her from its evil magic. The magic of the ritual burned its way into him and changed him to his very core.
Other:
His hat he got from a pirate captain to whom he served upon a ship for a year before a monster afflicted her, her hats own bubble of air was her own undoing.
At one time, he came upon a princess tiara as part of his treasure pull from a successful kidnapping of royalty. In order to dispose of the royal artifact, he had the enchantment transfered to a single jewel worn as a third eye and let them keep the rest of the encrusted property one worn by a queen as payment.
While worn, a third eye conceal protects the wearer from view by all devices, powers, and spells that detect, influence, or read emotions or thoughts. This power protects against all mind-affecting powers and effects as well as information-gathering by clairsentience powers or effects.
Given his propensity for tavern wenches and the like, he was quick to acquire a trinket from the temple of Aphrodite The wearer of this blue gem on a silver chain is immune to disease, including supernatural diseases.
Collected from the skin of a displacer beast, he had its pelt fashioned into his sleeveless longcoat with its powers still within the folds.
Worn inside out to hide its value, he keeps a vest once worn by a pyromancer who was dumb enough to think his innerfire was more powerful than a white dragon. Octavius managed to convince the dragon that the vest would melt the beasts home so he would take it far away while the dragon ate the former wizard for lunch.
Collected from a gnome adventuring party, he managed to run three through on his blade but only kept the one treasure.
1) Mount
2) Slumber
3) Phantasmal Killer
A most useful glove he keeps on hand, it once belonged to an assassin who would use it to bring all manner of gear in a backpack hidden in the stitching. When not used to hide his sword from public eye, he is often known to put his hand into a bucket full (20 pints/2.5 gallons) of holy water and secure it away for dealing with fiery or unholy creatures.
Two small but simple rings in his line of work,
A dwarven ring warded to protect the wearer from evil is actually a good choice when traveling with evil on a daily basis.
As powerful as a ring of invisibility, but far better for him as it makes eight more of him appear rather than make him vanish.
Made from the hide of a Steel dragon parading around as a priestess to Athena, she was fought and slain on her monthly hunt while she was fat and full of a heard of sheep they had left for her as an ambush. When crafted into armor, he had the choice to make the leather immune to acid or protect the wearer from poison, he took the poison protection. In truth it protects him as a full suit of armor as strong as platemail but glamored to be debatable levels of leather and hide piecemeal to suit his ego.
A prize from the arenas, once worn by a master of unarmed combat, this rope belt keeps him far more flexible than he ever could be without it.
Acquired from a fellow raider, a barbarian far from home who could outrun almost anything but a cup of envenomed wine.
These boots let him move faster than normal for moments at a time, acting as a blur when speed was needed over power.
Tattoo:
Psychoactive skin:
Morningstar
An lesser weapon best put to use when three feet of steel isn't recommended. He really hopes to replace it with a mace of disruption soon enough.
Shield
There are times when running around half naked with a greatsword isn't the best plans. When he has to play the defensive position, he uses a heavy shield with a depiction of Gaia upon it as she is of the earth as is hades.
Throwing Axe
When he needs to reach out and touch someone. He is also known to take a moment for himself to relax with all manner of pungent herb or alchemical paste into the bowl on the back.
His gift from beyond. Once, when he was a much younger lad, he traveled as a squire under a paladin of Hercules and her elderly wizard friend into the keep of a vile necromancer. Unfortunately there is a big difference between necromancer and a newly formed litch! Thinking quickly, the paladin took her bag of holding and threw it over them both to pop it away into a pocket realm for just a few seconds as the squire smashed the Phylactery on the work table. The litch turned to dust within the bag and the paladin sacrificed herself for the greater good. Octavius had an idea. He had the wizard use his magic to transmute the holy cold-iron plate-mail of the paladin to the litch dust and he had a greatsword forged from the coldiron dust.
This weapon is a Bane of the undead both solid and ghostly. Its supernaturally keen edge can store the simplest of enchantments within its Damascus folds for release at his will.
Why would a worshiper of the god of death have such enmity to the undead? To KEEP them in Tartarus where they belong!
Recently, he came upon a Devil who had a gift for Octavius. It seems the litch he had defeated so long ago had tried to use the phylactery as a bypass from the devils due. If the litch had succeeded it would have been most embarrassing and bad for business. So out of gratitude he offered the man one gift on credit, not the usual freebie sort of thing but the 'finders fee' of a wayward soul.
Thinking about it, he could easily wish to be the most or the best or the richest... but he had seen how that can bite you in the ass with previous people so he chose to keep it smaller, something he could live without; an extra enchantment on his blade. The two bickered back and forth on the who or what to be done but Octavius was rather stringent on not asking for too much, lest he rely on it too far.
In the end he got an idea from an assassin he used to know and had a small ruby inset into the pommel of his sword. This ruby would trap the soul of every victim of his sword for later that he could bring back to the devil for more credit. So far, Octavius cant find a problem with the deal and that bothers him. |
9,482 | 268 | 41 | 268 | 1,389 | Torrens was also in the chamber when the Master had congratulated the lot of them on their destruction of the village. He was pacing in a corner, with everyone who could help it keeping their distance from the searing incandescence of the demon. In fact, his mere presence in the room for the minutes they had been there would have made the temperature of that chamber uncomfortably warm. As for the offer of the loot, Torrens was rather detached from it. No material goods could possibly benefit him unless they were either enchanted completely against heat or were combustible and in very large quantity, and none of the loot fitted either category. "I have no use for any of this stuff," Torrens announced.
As discussion shifted to plans of further raids, his attention was grabbed. "I'd be happy to come along, although I'm afraid that I can't be of much help if your plans don't accommodate frontal assaults or lots of fire. As you can tell," Torrens said, gesturing to his incandescent self, "I'm not well built for subtlety. But I can burn things really well. Especially if I get a chance to before I radiate all this energy away."
It then hit Torrens that he hadn't killed anything during the raid, and as for burning things he had set one house alight in passing and that was it. He would be annoyed if he hadn't been able to feast on the blacksmith's forge, but since he had Torrens was quite content with the outcome of that raid. There had been no villagers he had seen which had been worth expending energy in killing, so his active presence wouldn't have been missed. When they actually found something worth fighting, though, then things would get fun. | Name
Umbra
Physical Form
Umbra
Umbra has no real physical form, but rather takes control of various objects most often statues, and in rare occasions even people or animals. In order to get around this Umbra does have a human companion that he uses as a temporary body if the situation calls for it.
Christopher
His companion is a small child named Christopher who is around the age of 7 who stands at just under 4’. The child looks like a normal human commoner, and wears nothing but very simple clothing, a plain white t-shirt and light brown pants (both loosely fitted and slightly torn). Christopher looks very unkempt and often appears covered in dirt and grime.
Abilities
Umbra
-Possess:Umbra attempts to take complete control of the person or object for an unlimited amount of time if successful. If the object is inanimate and is unprotected from magical wards then Umbra can possess it with ease. If he is trying to posses something protected by a magical ward or something that is living than it is slightly more difficult, and if the person is strongly willed or if the object in mention is protected by a powerful enough ward than Umbra will become unable to posses said object and will become unable to repossess something for the next twelve hours.
-Inanimate Possession: If Umbra takes control of an inanimate object than he will be able to move around as that object as if it was another living being, only without the physical limitations of a normal human either, granting him as much as four times the physical capabilities of the average human.
-Living Possession: If Umbra takes control of a living being than he is able to interact with people as if he was one. Though this comes with the risk of failure due to the person’s willpower and their own physical limitations, it is often the easiest way for Umbra to get around.
-Trapped in Purgatory: When Umbra is not taking possession of an object or person he is unable to interact with the world of the living or be seen by those who inhabit it.
-Frozen Touch: If Umbra is able to pierce or cut a living thing or object it will immediately begin to freeze until the person or object is completely frozen (It can take upwards of two days to become fully frozen from a minor cut, but a major wound can take as little time as an hour). The only way to prevent this is from fully happening is by cutting off the afflicted wound, using advanced healing magic or any kind of fire based magic to stop the spread.
-Enemy of the light: When Umbra takes possession of a person or object he is unable to walk around or move in direct sunlight or any source of light as strong as sunlight, as well as unable to leave the possessed body because of it (fire lit rooms don’t affect him). If he comes into contact with any form of shade he is able to continue as if he wasn’t in sunlight.
-Personality Disorder: When Umbra takes possession of a living being he will adopt that person’s characteristics and personality completely.
-Flight: When Umbra is not taking possession of a person or object he is able to naturally fly from location to location at immense speeds.
Personality
Umbra
Umbra is often extremely apathetic showing little care for morality or others around him beyond achieving his own goals and surviving. This makes him not inherently evil nor inherently good, but rather someone who will chooses the quickest and cleanest solution to solving a problem.
Christopher
Christopher is extremely outgoing and talkative for a small child. His childlike behavior is often easily noticed, and sometimes will go out of his way to show this to those around him. He is extremely naive and will attempt to befriend anyone or anything he sees. Much like Umbra, over the couple of years Christopher has spent with him he began to lose any concern over morality. Often seeing killing or other despicable activities as normal things that you must do in order to survive.
Wants/Needs
He has two ultimate goals, to find a permanent body of his own, one that doesn’t age, need rest, or get exhausted, and to be able to move freely in the sunlight. He is convinced that “the master” will be able to one day provide this to him or at the very least find him someone who can.
Relationships
Umbra holds a close relationship with Christopher. The small child being the closest thing he could have to his son he began to grow fond of him. Eventually befriending Christopher.
Backstory
Once a wealthy man named Jackson Rider, Umbra lead a life with little care until he found a beautiful woman named Rosana, who promised to marry him if he proved that he wasn’t only wealthy, but brave. Eventually he came to the conclusion the only way to prove this was to defeat a witch outside of the village, and bring back her head to show all of the towns people. As a week passed by he prepared buying weapons, armor, and potions to eventually defeat this witch.
Eventually the time came and he set off on his journey, eventually arriving within two days. The witch though proved much more powerful than he had ever expected. To her, he was nothing but a mere bug waiting to be squashed maybe even less so. Before striking him down she found it more interesting to curse him instead. “A child born without soul to the newly wed wife. A husband to a weeping woman and a child without purpose in life. Forsaken by god and forsaken by man. Simply to prove one's bravery matches his wealth hand to hand.”
It wasn’t long before he arrived home with feelings of failure and confusion. When he went to tell Rosana of his failure, she accepted him saying “an honest man is more virtuous and worthy of being my husband than the bravest of men,” and so they married. It wasn’t long until his wife told him of her pregnancy and the child was born not long after and was named Christopher. Sadly much like the witch had told him long ago his child was born without a soul.
That day he journeyed to the witches hut, leaving behind both his wife and child. He begged and cried for forgiveness. For the witch to lift the curse on his son. She smiled wickedly and whispered. “Death will be both your salvation and your punishment.” She quickly pulled out a dagger and stabbed Umbra through the chest, whispering a chant.
When he finally awoke he was greeted by the witch. “You are no longer man nor are you demon, simply Umbra taker of lives. Forced to walk in the shoes of others and the shadows of the night. Enjoy your son’s soul for yours.”
After many years after that day, how many exactly is unknown to him, he slowly began to desire what he once lost many years ago. Eventually he stumbled upon the dungeon keeper. Sensing his power and strength he decided it would be best to seek his help. They eventually they came to a compromise, if Umbra helps him achieve his goals he will one day return the favor.
Other
-If Umbra is in the body of a living person and said living person suffers a fatal wound Umbra will not die, but rather he would suffer a great amount of pain and will be unable to possess a body for a great deal of time (usually around a couple of weeks).
-There is no real way to permanently ‘kill’ Umbra, rather you can banish him to another plane of existence. While this can be accomplished through powerful spells or other magical means, the easiest way to do this would be to destroy his possessed body completely before the possessed can die. (Note: He can technically leave the possessed body at anytime so this would be best accomplished if he was under direct sunlight, or if it was by surprise.) |
9,483 | 268 | 42 | 740 | 392 | Emily followed the others back into the portal after watching the imps do their scavaging thing. It was quite interesting to watch, and she was glad for the wait, since several of the more damaged bodies didn't make the transition and just melted into a pool before draining into the ground. The spirits that where thrown from their bodies where annoyed by this, but hung around in spiritual form because they knew Emily would get them a new body soon. She'd need to get them all bodies soon, since even the best Zombie wasn't alive and so the spirit would melt the body eventually.
Once inside, Master made a showy enterance, and took several of the slaves, without even casting an eye over her spirits. Sure they were finite in lifespan but that didn't mean they should be ignored entirely. This made Emily sad, and what made her even sadder was that the Master thought she and the rest would be interested in physical treasure. Was was the point of it, since they could just rob everything they wanted anyway and not use the treasure.
However, there was talk of more raids, and so Emily thought to get into it before there was chance to maim and slaughter, so she could get her spirits real bodies. Even now the Abominations where leaking onto the floor, and one had even melted entirely, so getting new hosts was priority.
"I could send my spirits out to several of the closer villages, and have them take hold of real, live people. They could scout around the town and be privy to the minds of their hosts, since such weak magicless peasents could never resist a Fire Spirit. That could help up work out which was the best village to hit with the raid" | Name: Emily Kabal, Spirit's Sonnet
Physical Form: Innoculious and cute, Emily is in every way a young human girl that draws little attention and can go wherever she wants to without anyone becoming sucpicious, and anyone who does think to stop Emily gets such a heart melting smile they can't help but let her go on. She has no physical Tell to inform a person there is more than meets the eye, and she wears casual peasant garb which further enhances her ability to slip in wherever and whenever she wants.
Abilities: Magic is Emily's forte, and she fortes brilliantly. There are few human warlocks who could compete with Emily by herself, and she is assisted in her magical talent by four Sung Spirits - a special branch of spirit that can only be summoned by singing, rather than ritual - which pushes her magical prowess far beyond what any mortal could ever dream of. The three spirits she hosts are Storm, Earth and Fire, with an Overseer spirit that watches the other three and posesses talent in their schools. Most of her spells are generic, if powerfully utalized, but the one unique spell she posesses is Empyrean; The Fire King's Crown. It does not exist in this dimension the same way that the rest of her magic does, and so she needs help from her Fire spirit and the Overseer to conjuer it. She creates the physical shell while her spirits fill it with the fire itself. Once that is done, Empyrean; The Fire King's Crown can be used in two differen manners. The first is a singular target, which upon impact incinrates them internally and externally at the same moment, making it effective even against armour or barriers - something to note is that if the target can absorb heat and fire, then they are super-charged by it rather than burned to a cinder. The second is a wide spread attack that causes an extremely hot fire to voraciously spread through the surrounding area, engulfing a small village in moments. The strain, both physically and magically, is considerable so it is not often used. Another rather personal, but not unique, ability is how Emily can use her fire as a sort of Afterburner, and fly through the sky. This is not very subtle, and causes her magics to drain at a constant rate, so she does not use it lightly. The third uncommon ability is her teleporting from Fire to Fire. This requires a pillar of flame to engulf Emily, and then a second Pillar of flame to drop her off. The disadvantage is that it causes disorientation and the second pillar can sometimes not be available.
Aside from magical abilities Emily can - obviously - sing very well, and enjoys simply singing for the thrill of it. She puts this to use summoning her spirits, most commonly Blanks which can posess weak-willed humans or recently dead cadavers and provide Emily with feedback and obidience. With slightly more effort, Emily can bind elemental spirits to herself - or though currently she is at her limit and wants to give her body time to adjust before getting more - and also to beings like Wolves, and Badgers, and Sheep. And humans, but they are usually not so cool and not so plentiful. Emily has a sharp mind as well, able to create a plan in a few moments and chain together her three magical elements, creating a combo that is able to take out massive creatures, well confident of their own abilities before they came face to face with this young girl. Physically, she is of a standard teenagers strength and durability, so she avoids close combat.
A final, and rather unknown power, is Emily's ability to percieve Magic. When it is being used, how much, and also the strength of the person she is looking at. This gives her a clear advantage over other magic users, since it allows her to see what theyr are about to use, and work around it. This technique turns her eyes pure gold, and drains her power at a constant rate, so extended useage is unadvisable.
Wants/Needs: While Emily is happy serving Master in every way, she does have a long-term goal to summon and bind Spitfire, The Fire King, Nike, The Earth King, and Minami, the Storm King.
Relationships: Other than her devotion to the Master, Emily fits in well with all kind of Spirits, so she is often found in the company of Umbra and Narza.
Backstory: Emily is a Homonculus, an artifically created Human, and the first sucess in a string of failures that created useless, deformed monstrosities. She was created with magical power in mind, so the creation process sacrificed the strength most artificals could posess in return for a much deeper magical pool. Some think that she does not have a soul because she was created, but that is a falicy, since even Homonculi need souls to exist. She was pushed, magically, to increase her power, and get stronger until a point where she could handle Sung Spirits inhabiting her. She summoned her first, a spirit of Fire, and after a few months of training and control, summoned even more spirits until she had the total of four she has now.
Other: ((Anything else that you want to mention?)) |
9,484 | 268 | 43 | 538 | 2,678 | The raid was finally over and everyone quickly headed back to the dungeon through the portal created by the Imps. Once Umbra finally returned to the dungeon he noticed Christopher quietly staring in awe as everyone walked by. Strangely looking at those around him as if they were heroes returning from an epic quest. The very thought that Christopher thought this way deeply confused Umbra, most hide there faces or cower, but he always held his head high.
It wasn’t long before the Master appeared in what seemed like a very showy manner. Christopher’s face lit up from the performance and as he let out a slight giggle. After the Master took his keep and left the rest to us. It wasn’t long before Christopher noticed the slaves and in a strange attempt to get to know them better quickly ran over to the small group asking questions like “what's it like to be a slave?” and “does that mean you are going to do my chores?”
Umbra on the other hand stood still, silently listening to the others discuss possibly raiding another village, one even suggesting to bringing Orcs to further confuse the enemy. Emily even suggested scouting the villages with here spirits. Though all were great ideas Umbra had a different plan that might work, and it would require a lot less effort. He quickly turned towards Christopher and took possession of him.
“You guys have great ideas, but if our goal is to simply prevent them from discovering that we are responsible for attacking the village then simply send me in the body of one of our new captives, preferably a female” he paused for a second to clear his throat. Having to use Christopher to explain something like this was a bit difficult, but it should be easily understood. “I play the part of a victim, a young pretty woman who just survived a ferocious Orc attack leaving non-alive other than ‘me’. The people will most likely believe me as they have no reason not to, and investigate the attack. Later that night as they investigate the attack I 'commit suicide' even leaving a note about how I simply couldn’t live with the loss of my family. They already have evidence against the orcs for the attacks, they may even possibly look over a few things out of sheer anger. I believe the idea is fairly solid, we spend less resources early on, have time to regroup and rest until the next raid, and ultimately accomplishing our goals.” Umbra put on a sinister smile as he finished, only for it look nothing more than slightly adorable on Christopher. | Name: Whatever his real name is, he hasn't told any of his minions. He demands to be called the Overlord, Master, Dungeon Keeper, or simply 'boss'.
Physical Form: He may appear to be just human, a simple warlock, but make no mistake: possessing that frail human body is an ancient and incredibly powerful demon. The demon's unadulterated malevolence is made visible to the eye by the glowing lines and strange symbols that adorn his face, and his crimson eyes that seem to reflect the deepest pits of hell like a lake reflects the moon.
Abilities: The Dungeon Keeper is essentially a demigod; he is aware of everything that happens inside his own dungeon (and with some simple magic he can see what is happening elsewhere), with a flick of his wrist he could incinerate a dozen people, and overall he could match at least five or six of his champions at once, blow for blow. On top of this he is a powerful warlock, capable of performing all manner of black magic, summoning monstrous beasts or brokering deals with other demons.
He has two fatal weaknesses, however: the first is his human form. He is not the sort of demon that is a massive hulk of red flesh; he is stuck within this fragile body, and while he is harder to kill than a normal human he is still an easy target for any that can withstand his might for long enough to retaliate. His second weakness is that all of his power stems from what he refers to as his Dungeon Heart, and so this heart must be protected at all costs. For these two reasons, don't expect to see him fighting much. He'll have his champions doing that sort of dirty work.
Personality: He is ruthless, seemingly without compassion or care for anything. Brutal and valuing effectiveness over all other traits, one of the quickest ways to his good side is to obey his orders and exceed his expectations. He is not much for words, and not terribly approachable either. Still, if one of his minions hatched a devious enough plan, he might at least listen and consider it.
Wants/Needs: He's utterly hellbent upon enslaving the mortal races and conquering the world.
Relationships: Unless listed otherwise, he feels rather neutral towards your character, or hasn't been left with any impression.
Twich - He's watching this one. Twich seems both competent and useful, so the Master likes him.
That Which Consumes Peace - The Dungeon Keeper is rather agitated with him, after the incident with Shukra.
Shukra - Shukra seems rather ballsy and arrogant. Even though the Master took Shukra's side, he still feels that the warlord might need to be put in his place.
Athinar - Bold, and seems like he might be a good leader. While he doesn't necessarily like Athinar, he will humor his request and grant him a few chances to prove himself as a leader.
Backstory: This invasion of his has been years in the planning; for many centuries he writhed in the abyss of the infernal realm, until he finally managed to escape into this world. Then, he lurked in the darkness, always on the run, biding his time until he sensed that the time was right. Now, that time has come, and through various means he's been gathering together a horde of evil the likes of which this world hasn't seen in thousands of years. |
9,485 | 268 | 44 | 215 | 1,683 | Athinar grinned as the Master expressed pleasure at their performance. He had done well, and Athinar knew it, but to get such recognition from the one he was currently working for, well, it felt good. Almost as good as spilling blood. Before everyone started to argue over the spoils, Athinar grabbed a slave, and picking him up from the scruff of the neck, enough to keep him restrained, and above the reach of the imps that now spilled about him, tossed him over his shoulder. He needed at least one slave. Didn't matter what for. Maybe he'd have him cook for him or something. Anyways, that wasn't important. Turning to Kor, he saluted the Darkwraith with a mock salute. "Well met. And goodbye. I have to take care of some things. Hope to see you in the next raid." Passing the group, he overheard the words "raid" and "village" in the same sentence, but unfortunately heard "scout" and "infiltrate", as well as "plan". Raising his voice above the din of the assorted creatures, he said, "If you need things or people broken, come see me. I'm not much for scouting. Call me when you're up for a frontal assault." Waving, he pushed past a burning zombie, not even minding the singeing that was blackening his slave's face.
Finally out of the central entrance, Athinar found himself able to breathe. Roughly setting the terrified village down, allowing him to walk, he rolled his arms around in his sockets. Taking off his helmet, he shook out his long silver hair, allowing it to fall down around his eyes. "So, uhhh, what do you do?" Raising his finger before he had the chance to answer, he said, "Whatever name you had before, it is irrelevant. You now answer to Meat." Athinar then waved his hand, allowing the man to speak, as a pack of imps carried a door deeper into the tunnels.
"Well, I-I'm a barber." Seeing Athinar's displeased grimace, he hastily said, "That doesn't mean that I ju-just cut hair, th-though. I can act as a personal servant, and I also can act as a surgeon, in a p-pinch." Athinar, studying Meat's face, broke into a honest smile. The man was actually useful, and he had a strange pull to effective servants. He didn't know why, as just killing them all would be more fun, but a good support staff was important, he supposed. While the Boss was certainly powerful, he couldn't have come as far as he had without a base of power.
As they came upon a room, roughly carved out of the stone, a connecting tunnel to the main one, Athinar said, "Meat, if you serve me well, we won't have any problems." This seemed to reassure Meat, a nervous grin appearing on his face. Opening a wooden door that was just recently installed, Athinar looked around his room. It was quite bare, with only a single torch in a hole in the wall, and a simple bed in one corner. "Meat, this is my room. You should be okay, if you do not leave. Ever." Gritting his teeth, he leaned in close. "Except for when I tell you, of course. But if you leave for any reason except for by my order, then we WILL have problems. Do you understand me?" Meat nodded his head frantically. Athinar, satisfied, exited the room, leaving Meat behind, and locking the door behind him. He then headed off to see what the Boss wished of him. While the other champions had a solid idea, he would like to see the Boss's opinions on the matter. The first one he met up with, on the way to the boss, he would greet with a command and a question. "Follow me. So, what is the plan?" | Name: Athinar Gol-Gaia
Physical Form:
Tall, well-muscled, and stable, he is the pinnacle of physical perfection, even by the standards of some who would call themselves 'Immortal'. He is 6'8", and weighs at 300 pounds, in his normal form.
In his alternate form, he gains a sentient sword, and a set of armor which is actually part of him. In this form, sometimes his face is visible, but more often than not, he keeps his mask on. He is 7'0" even, and weighs 450 pounds.
Abilities:
Normal Form / Carnage Form - Athinar has decided to forgo magic that affects others, in favor of a magic that supplements his already impressive strength. His Carnage Form is a shell, which looks like armor, but actually is a super-dense exoskeleton. While in this form, he is significantly slower, but is immensely more powerful in terms of strength and defense.
Summon: Carnage Blade - Athinar has the ability to summon his Carnage blade at any time, however it is smaller and less impressive when he's not in Carnage form, although it still is alive, and speaks to him. The blade's name is Requiem. what the sword looks like, except with glowing red runes down the middle.
(Normal Form - Rock Style) Blood Palm - Athinar uses the blood spilled by anyone, including his own, in a fight, to empower his fist's attack.
Martial Arts - Athinar was trained in three forms of martial arts by the monks. However, he is only the equivalent of a black belt in one, and slightly competent in the others.
(Skilled)Rock Style - Athinar stays solid, and in place, for the most part. He uses his fists, elbows, and occasionally trips the enemy, but tries to keep his feet steady. For if he can, not much in the terms of human force can move him, but if anyone has trained in Windstance (or was strong enough), they could move him through sheer momentum and weight transfer.
(Beginner)The Path of the Cyclone - Not so much a martial art as a series of moves, executed one after the other, this unarmed style is used to fight large groups of enemies. There are twelve moves altogether, in three groups. However, Athinar was only taught the first group, and cannot continue the momentum of the Path.
- Leaping Tornado: Athinar lunges forward, landing among his enemies.
- Unseen Tempest: Athinar waits three seconds for enemies to close in, ready to strike.
- Stormblade: Athinar ducks down beneath a man's weapon, and elbows him in the chest/neck area.
- Cyclone Kick: Athinar does a roundhouse kick, tripping all surrounding enemies.
However, these are usually poorly executed, due to lack of training.
(Beginner) Celestial Mirage - This is possibly the martial art that he's learned that he has the most trouble with. It is a kick-based martial art, one that forces you to maintain patience. It's attacks come in bursts, to draw the enemy out, and allow the student to analyze the situation. However bad Athinar is with this, it was still one of the arts he learned from the monks, and he views it as a useful, albeit F*CKING INFURIATING skill.
Personality: Athinar gets intense pleasure from seeing other creature's blood. No matter the circumstances, or whether he is allied with them or not. When he is not getting excited by bloodlust, he is usually a very calm, collected individual, who is quite intelligent, surprisingly. When blood is near, he turns into a vicious man, taking pleasure in drawing blood, tasting it, etc. Afterwards, he is, shall we say, *ahem* easily excitable. If you know what I mean. However, this doesn't mean that he's not smart. He is extremely smart, in his bloodlust, and will be able to craft plans on the fly, if they end in violence and killing.
Relationships:
Emily- Thinks that the homunculus is beneath his attention, generally, unless she does something big and shiny.
That Which Consumes Peace- A fool, disobeying the Boss, but made a nice save, getting Shukra mildly punished.
Ekushka- Hasn't met her yet.
Narza- Is quite fond of the little ghost, curretly.
Shukra- A pompous ass who fails at commanding.
Darkwraith Kor- A good fighter, like Athinar, who shares his bloodlust. Enjoys his company.
Azavarn- Too flamboyant.
Umbra/Christopher- Thinks that Christopher is a bit off, but doesn't know why.
Torrens- Doesn't have any opinion of him, but thinks that a fire demon might be useful.
Clotho- Has a strange fixation on Clotho's chitin.
Twitch- Has disdain for the ratty, well, twitchy kobold. Maybe if he actually did something, he might be useful.
Backstory: Athinar is the reincarnated form of an ex-Dungeon Keeper, banished from his former world, and born to a new life in this one. However, he don't remember shit, and the only benefits were the impressive physical abilities you see today. He was born to an order of monks, who trained him in every combat style, unarmed and armed. However, this revealed his darker secret, his love for shedding blood. Killing them all, he was guided by a voice in his head, who told him that if he joined with him, he'd get to kill, kill, and keep killing. So he met up with the Dungeon Keeper, and started killing.
Other: If Athinar seems too powerful, remember that he was converted to the Dungeon Keeper's cause by him just saying that he could kill people if he joined him. He's not dumb, but he does have quite the one-track-mind, and is quite susceptible to manipulation, in both forms. Like, REALLY susceptible. A novice hypnotist could put him to sleep. |
9,486 | 268 | 45 | 2,751 | 60 | Emily was standing around, keeping watch over her zombies while still being present, and subtly cleaning up the mess of an Abomination that did not cut it and turned into fleshy slag. But then, Master looked over - causing Emily to grin happily, regardless of the reason he was looking for - and made them all vanish. Emily didn't really understand teleporting and pocket dimensions, but she did understand her darlings, and what they needed.
"O...k...But, the Abominations haven't finished, and as dead corpses, the spirit'll burn through them in a few days. So, I am not sure how it works, but you are probably going to have some melted person in your teleporty place tommorow" she warned. It wasn't vindictive at all, she just thought that people should be warned about melted person.
She didn't really think there was much, if anything, left to say and she wasn't interested in the physical wares that had been brought back. What she wanted had already been obtained - in part, at least because the bodies could hardly speak and it was crypic when they could enunciate - but the gist was there. And the gist, was not subtle, which might annoy some people she knew. So, it was her need of less-than-subtle that caused her to stay where she was, since she would have to speak to Master after the rest where gone. Things needed doing. | Name: Shukra
Gender: Male
Race: Rakshasa
Physical Form: Standing at a proud seven feet even, Shukra is a monster to behold, with flowing black fur the color of ash with stripes that glow like flames. His eyes glow the orange of fire, and his maw is filled with razor sharp teeth like his tiger cousins. Each finger is tipped with a razor sharp claw, and a long tail swishes behind him. Few have survived the attempt of touching it. Adorning his body is a suit of ancestral armor, worn by the honor guard of the ancient Rakshasa emperors, made of an unknown metal and inlaid with gold. Aga, his sword, lays on his hip, made of the same metal as his armor and covered in a runes that glow like embers.
Skills/Abilities
Voice of the Emperor - A gentle reminder that he is your better. Every word he says will influence the thoughts of the weak willed and unintelligent towards what he wants.
Breath of the Dragon - Fire is his ally, and so he has garnered an immunity to its effects, and can manipulate natural fires or create his own through magic.
Strength of the Tiger - He is naturally tougher and stronger than most other races, and has, at one point, torn an orc chieftain in half with his bare hands.
Speed of the Snake - While he is not the fastest man to live, he can outrun any human with ease, and his reflexes are far superior to most others.
Blade of the East - He is a good swordsman, but by no means the best.
Personality: Shukra is confident that he, because of his race, if not himself as a person, is superior to all others, especially others. As such, he will rarely give the time of day to others he sees as below him, and those that he has managed to come to terms with as them being his equal, he will at least attempt to be civil with them, in his own special way as an ass. The rare occasion he'll find someone who has proven themself to be his superior, he's found an unnatural and unhealthy obsession with being under their service. Up until the point where he's confident enough to kill them and take their place, but with the current Dungeon Master, he is unsure of his ability to do so. However, he does have a soft spots for his servants, and gets legitimately enraged when he finds out his lackeys have been killed.
Wants/Needs: Shukra wants one thing: To restore the glory of the Rakshasa, even if he is the only one left. Land, subjects, and cities to lord over are what he wants, for those that are lesser than him to submit and become become his, one way or another. That, and to become strong enough to deserve the title of King.
Backstory: In the jungles to the east, there are stories of the rakshasas, demonic tiger men that lorded over lesser races. They were brought down by great heroes, or sealed away by powerful mages. But, there were some that managed to escape persecution by their servants and peasants. Shukra, once a steward and guard to a more powerful rakshasa. He escaped, and went into a dormant state. However, he was recently awakened by a clan of orcs, deep underground. Shukra is unsure of how he got there, but after slaying the chieftain of the orcs, he took command of their clan and drove them to the surface, forcing them to become strong, smart, cunning. He's lead them close to the surface, where others of their kind and other degenerates forced underground by the humans to hide and cower have gathered. That is where he shall begin his ascent, and return to glory.
Other: His sword, Aga, is made of an unknown metal and covered in red runes that glow like embers. Because of the magic in these runes, the sword is impervious to rust, will never dull, and will never dent, and is immune to all but the strongest of magics. He also has a clan of orcs under his command, which is convenient at times.
The Vorhaas Clan |
9,487 | 268 | 46 | 268 | 1,389 | The scene that unfolded with Shukra caught Torrens' attention, like the attention of just about everyone in the room. Contrary to Shukra's suspicion, Torrens did not 'leap right onto him in a moment'. That fire was little greater than a campfire, which made it nothing more than a morsel to the well-fed demon of heat, and leaping onto people was rude. Torrens did make a mental note that the big cat warrior chieftain could summon fire, though, especially when mad, and filed it away for later use.
Torrens watched in amusement as the great chieftain was reduced to pleading for forgiveness from the Keeper. He filed that away also, in case it every became necessary to humiliate Shukra. Then came the accusation against That Which Consumes Peace. Things just got interesting, and he was mighty glad that he was watching from the sidelines because things could get nasty really quickly. Either way, someone would walk away from this confrontation having made a rather poor early impression.
While Torrens had not been in a position to properly observe most of the raid, he was not surprised that someone had done a little bit of indiscriminate killing. Almost never had he seen so many individual Rogue Beings assembled under one Dungeon Keeper, so it was almost certain that some of them would be bad eggs. Especially That Which Consumes Peace. That demon looked shifty and had a shifty name. Torrens, on the other hand, had more self control. While his purpose in life might be to burn things, he was more than experienced and smart enough to know what not to burn and when not to burn things. If he had gone around killing his Keeper's minions for fun, or even for short term personal gain, he would have built up a poor reputation rather quickly. Depending on how this confrontation went, Torrens might give That Which Consumes Peace a bit of advice in that regard. | Name
Umbra
Physical Form
Umbra
Umbra has no real physical form, but rather takes control of various objects most often statues, and in rare occasions even people or animals. In order to get around this Umbra does have a human companion that he uses as a temporary body if the situation calls for it.
Christopher
His companion is a small child named Christopher who is around the age of 7 who stands at just under 4’. The child looks like a normal human commoner, and wears nothing but very simple clothing, a plain white t-shirt and light brown pants (both loosely fitted and slightly torn). Christopher looks very unkempt and often appears covered in dirt and grime.
Abilities
Umbra
-Possess:Umbra attempts to take complete control of the person or object for an unlimited amount of time if successful. If the object is inanimate and is unprotected from magical wards then Umbra can possess it with ease. If he is trying to posses something protected by a magical ward or something that is living than it is slightly more difficult, and if the person is strongly willed or if the object in mention is protected by a powerful enough ward than Umbra will become unable to posses said object and will become unable to repossess something for the next twelve hours.
-Inanimate Possession: If Umbra takes control of an inanimate object than he will be able to move around as that object as if it was another living being, only without the physical limitations of a normal human either, granting him as much as four times the physical capabilities of the average human.
-Living Possession: If Umbra takes control of a living being than he is able to interact with people as if he was one. Though this comes with the risk of failure due to the person’s willpower and their own physical limitations, it is often the easiest way for Umbra to get around.
-Trapped in Purgatory: When Umbra is not taking possession of an object or person he is unable to interact with the world of the living or be seen by those who inhabit it.
-Frozen Touch: If Umbra is able to pierce or cut a living thing or object it will immediately begin to freeze until the person or object is completely frozen (It can take upwards of two days to become fully frozen from a minor cut, but a major wound can take as little time as an hour). The only way to prevent this is from fully happening is by cutting off the afflicted wound, using advanced healing magic or any kind of fire based magic to stop the spread.
-Enemy of the light: When Umbra takes possession of a person or object he is unable to walk around or move in direct sunlight or any source of light as strong as sunlight, as well as unable to leave the possessed body because of it (fire lit rooms don’t affect him). If he comes into contact with any form of shade he is able to continue as if he wasn’t in sunlight.
-Personality Disorder: When Umbra takes possession of a living being he will adopt that person’s characteristics and personality completely.
-Flight: When Umbra is not taking possession of a person or object he is able to naturally fly from location to location at immense speeds.
Personality
Umbra
Umbra is often extremely apathetic showing little care for morality or others around him beyond achieving his own goals and surviving. This makes him not inherently evil nor inherently good, but rather someone who will chooses the quickest and cleanest solution to solving a problem.
Christopher
Christopher is extremely outgoing and talkative for a small child. His childlike behavior is often easily noticed, and sometimes will go out of his way to show this to those around him. He is extremely naive and will attempt to befriend anyone or anything he sees. Much like Umbra, over the couple of years Christopher has spent with him he began to lose any concern over morality. Often seeing killing or other despicable activities as normal things that you must do in order to survive.
Wants/Needs
He has two ultimate goals, to find a permanent body of his own, one that doesn’t age, need rest, or get exhausted, and to be able to move freely in the sunlight. He is convinced that “the master” will be able to one day provide this to him or at the very least find him someone who can.
Relationships
Umbra holds a close relationship with Christopher. The small child being the closest thing he could have to his son he began to grow fond of him. Eventually befriending Christopher.
Backstory
Once a wealthy man named Jackson Rider, Umbra lead a life with little care until he found a beautiful woman named Rosana, who promised to marry him if he proved that he wasn’t only wealthy, but brave. Eventually he came to the conclusion the only way to prove this was to defeat a witch outside of the village, and bring back her head to show all of the towns people. As a week passed by he prepared buying weapons, armor, and potions to eventually defeat this witch.
Eventually the time came and he set off on his journey, eventually arriving within two days. The witch though proved much more powerful than he had ever expected. To her, he was nothing but a mere bug waiting to be squashed maybe even less so. Before striking him down she found it more interesting to curse him instead. “A child born without soul to the newly wed wife. A husband to a weeping woman and a child without purpose in life. Forsaken by god and forsaken by man. Simply to prove one's bravery matches his wealth hand to hand.”
It wasn’t long before he arrived home with feelings of failure and confusion. When he went to tell Rosana of his failure, she accepted him saying “an honest man is more virtuous and worthy of being my husband than the bravest of men,” and so they married. It wasn’t long until his wife told him of her pregnancy and the child was born not long after and was named Christopher. Sadly much like the witch had told him long ago his child was born without a soul.
That day he journeyed to the witches hut, leaving behind both his wife and child. He begged and cried for forgiveness. For the witch to lift the curse on his son. She smiled wickedly and whispered. “Death will be both your salvation and your punishment.” She quickly pulled out a dagger and stabbed Umbra through the chest, whispering a chant.
When he finally awoke he was greeted by the witch. “You are no longer man nor are you demon, simply Umbra taker of lives. Forced to walk in the shoes of others and the shadows of the night. Enjoy your son’s soul for yours.”
After many years after that day, how many exactly is unknown to him, he slowly began to desire what he once lost many years ago. Eventually he stumbled upon the dungeon keeper. Sensing his power and strength he decided it would be best to seek his help. They eventually they came to a compromise, if Umbra helps him achieve his goals he will one day return the favor.
Other
-If Umbra is in the body of a living person and said living person suffers a fatal wound Umbra will not die, but rather he would suffer a great amount of pain and will be unable to possess a body for a great deal of time (usually around a couple of weeks).
-There is no real way to permanently ‘kill’ Umbra, rather you can banish him to another plane of existence. While this can be accomplished through powerful spells or other magical means, the easiest way to do this would be to destroy his possessed body completely before the possessed can die. (Note: He can technically leave the possessed body at anytime so this would be best accomplished if he was under direct sunlight, or if it was by surprise.) |
9,488 | 268 | 47 | 740 | 392 | Hearing the accusation from Shukra, That Which Consumes Peace bounds out of the shadows towards the Master and the Rakshasa. The demon slams his fist into the side of the big cat's face, hopefully sending the fellow villain flying.
"I will not stand to be accused of such things by a petty warlord!", the demon's dark, deep, hollow voice exclaimed.
"Master, I had merely used the material given to me to take down two dangerous foes. Enemies that could've actually done harm to my fellow villains. In fact, I might've saved Kor's life. Also, Narza surely enjoyed those souls! Are four orcs really as valuable as what we gained in return for their lives? Also, Shukra could've easily herded his humans into the meeting place and laid his claim to the rest of us. Even I, after already making a deal for humans, had waited to gather my claims. What makes this feline so much better than us, that he can just whisk away slaves at his leisure? Why, it seems that he is placing himself on the same level as you, Master! If I were you, Master, I'd ask myself what a power hungry Rakshasa would do with an entire orc army. He may have the idea to overthrow you. Just a suggestion, Master. "
That steps back, satisfied with his small speech. It will get the Master's eyes off of his back and onto Shukra's. Not that most of those things are not legitimate beefs, they are, but the demon played them up to a degree. That places his eyes upon Shukra, weary of his next move. He, as a demon, is immortal. However, his physical form is not. It would take him years to conjure another physical form as strong as his current one. | Name: Emily Kabal, Spirit's Sonnet
Physical Form: Innoculious and cute, Emily is in every way a young human girl that draws little attention and can go wherever she wants to without anyone becoming sucpicious, and anyone who does think to stop Emily gets such a heart melting smile they can't help but let her go on. She has no physical Tell to inform a person there is more than meets the eye, and she wears casual peasant garb which further enhances her ability to slip in wherever and whenever she wants.
Abilities: Magic is Emily's forte, and she fortes brilliantly. There are few human warlocks who could compete with Emily by herself, and she is assisted in her magical talent by four Sung Spirits - a special branch of spirit that can only be summoned by singing, rather than ritual - which pushes her magical prowess far beyond what any mortal could ever dream of. The three spirits she hosts are Storm, Earth and Fire, with an Overseer spirit that watches the other three and posesses talent in their schools. Most of her spells are generic, if powerfully utalized, but the one unique spell she posesses is Empyrean; The Fire King's Crown. It does not exist in this dimension the same way that the rest of her magic does, and so she needs help from her Fire spirit and the Overseer to conjuer it. She creates the physical shell while her spirits fill it with the fire itself. Once that is done, Empyrean; The Fire King's Crown can be used in two differen manners. The first is a singular target, which upon impact incinrates them internally and externally at the same moment, making it effective even against armour or barriers - something to note is that if the target can absorb heat and fire, then they are super-charged by it rather than burned to a cinder. The second is a wide spread attack that causes an extremely hot fire to voraciously spread through the surrounding area, engulfing a small village in moments. The strain, both physically and magically, is considerable so it is not often used. Another rather personal, but not unique, ability is how Emily can use her fire as a sort of Afterburner, and fly through the sky. This is not very subtle, and causes her magics to drain at a constant rate, so she does not use it lightly. The third uncommon ability is her teleporting from Fire to Fire. This requires a pillar of flame to engulf Emily, and then a second Pillar of flame to drop her off. The disadvantage is that it causes disorientation and the second pillar can sometimes not be available.
Aside from magical abilities Emily can - obviously - sing very well, and enjoys simply singing for the thrill of it. She puts this to use summoning her spirits, most commonly Blanks which can posess weak-willed humans or recently dead cadavers and provide Emily with feedback and obidience. With slightly more effort, Emily can bind elemental spirits to herself - or though currently she is at her limit and wants to give her body time to adjust before getting more - and also to beings like Wolves, and Badgers, and Sheep. And humans, but they are usually not so cool and not so plentiful. Emily has a sharp mind as well, able to create a plan in a few moments and chain together her three magical elements, creating a combo that is able to take out massive creatures, well confident of their own abilities before they came face to face with this young girl. Physically, she is of a standard teenagers strength and durability, so she avoids close combat.
A final, and rather unknown power, is Emily's ability to percieve Magic. When it is being used, how much, and also the strength of the person she is looking at. This gives her a clear advantage over other magic users, since it allows her to see what theyr are about to use, and work around it. This technique turns her eyes pure gold, and drains her power at a constant rate, so extended useage is unadvisable.
Wants/Needs: While Emily is happy serving Master in every way, she does have a long-term goal to summon and bind Spitfire, The Fire King, Nike, The Earth King, and Minami, the Storm King.
Relationships: Other than her devotion to the Master, Emily fits in well with all kind of Spirits, so she is often found in the company of Umbra and Narza.
Backstory: Emily is a Homonculus, an artifically created Human, and the first sucess in a string of failures that created useless, deformed monstrosities. She was created with magical power in mind, so the creation process sacrificed the strength most artificals could posess in return for a much deeper magical pool. Some think that she does not have a soul because she was created, but that is a falicy, since even Homonculi need souls to exist. She was pushed, magically, to increase her power, and get stronger until a point where she could handle Sung Spirits inhabiting her. She summoned her first, a spirit of Fire, and after a few months of training and control, summoned even more spirits until she had the total of four she has now.
Other: ((Anything else that you want to mention?)) |
9,489 | 268 | 48 | 1,512 | 202 | The meager treasures and valuables brought back by the imps were of no interest whatsoever to Narza. She couldn't even touch any of it yet without using magic. Granted, she had the feeling she'd be able to take corporeal form eventually, but she could worry about that later. For now, there were souls to be had. By the sound of what the Master had said, it was up to them to divide the spoils.
Giggling mischievously, Narza turns invisible and shoots forward into the center of the crowd of captured humans. The terrified, beaten, defeated villagers offered no mental resistance to Narza as she tore their souls from their bodies and feasted on the very essence of their being. To the unaided eye, it would look as if the humans were slowly falling to the floor one by one. They're technically still alive and can be turned into those flame zombie things later anyways Narza reasons as she eats her second soul.
She listens with detached interest to Ekusha's explanation of her powers. More specifically, she has a fragment of Derrik do it for her. After absorbing quite a few souls, Narza had come to realize that Derrik's torn apart soul could be pieced back together, and the pieces could tell her much more about how to use magic, and also unconsciously took an interest in the magic of his peers. Each soul she absorbed improved her control over her own souls, much like how it's easier to solve a puzzle with larger pieces.
As the third body slumps to the ground, Narza floats over to a fourth victim, listening intently to Octavius, Emily, and Twich. No matter what their plans were, as long as bodies were dropping, there were souls to be had. Umbra' plan was rather boring, however. From the sound of it, only one person would be dying, and Umbra would get the person anyways. Finished eating the soul of a woman with filthy, tangled brown hair covering her face, Narza moves onto the next nearest human, a middle-aged man. She vacates the body hurriedly however, as Athinar slings the man over his shoulder easily. Narza shrugs invisibly and chooses another human, this one a heavyset older man with heavy perspiration dripping down his pallid skin.
Narza giggles to herself as she hears the fire kitty complain to the Master about his dead orcs. Sure, she'd killed one, but hey, she doubted anyone saw that anyways. With some amusement, she listens as the shady demon argues back at the Orc leader. She perks up as her name is mentioned, listening to see if any Orc deaths were blamed on her. Thankfully, none were. "They were pretty tasty." Narza says mostly to herself, smiling at the memory. She would have to find more of those special souls. The Orc souls were meatier than the human souls, but not really anything special. If anything, they were actually blander, with baser thoughts and desires as its remnants stewed in her crowded consciousness. In any case, neither side of the argument concerned her yet, so Narza started on her eighth soul. Since she had begun eating near the center of the group of humans, her aftermath was less visible, but there were still seven comatose humans slumped over.
126.5 tormented humans, 2 orcs, 2 clerics, one twisted little girl, 3 Elementals, and Derrik the dark mage
((I'm going to have only mobile access for the next week, so please excuse grammar, spelling, and colors for now.)) | Name: Narza (unable to remember her last name)
Physical Form:
Chimeric Specter
Narza is an amalgamation of a wide variety of souls, brought about by a somewhat mediocre dark mage named Derrik. The dark mage combined, a few dozen tormented human souls, the soul of an innocent young human girl, freshly killed to serve as the catalyst, and three different Elementals, one of Wind, one of Water, and one of Darkness. Dreaming of power and infamy, Derrik aimed to create a fearsome tri-element familiar and make his familiar’s personality more easily controlled by using a young girl’s soul as the base. While the dark mage succeeded in fusing the souls, one of his more mediocre points showed in his binding abilities.
The chimeric spirit broke free and consumed the dark mage the split-second after it was born. Because the chimeric spirit hadn’t settled and solidified, it ended up absorbing the dark mage into its core, giving it some of the abilities of the dark mage as well. A battle for dominance over the soul ensued. The dark mage, already weakened by the fusion process, was unanimously dealt with by the other souls. The elementals fell next, overwhelmed by the many insane human souls. With the elementals gone, the tormented souls fell upon each other, tearing each other apart in mindless agony. In the end, only the soul of the young girl, added most recently (aside from the dark mage), was left intact. Her name was Narza.
Magic and Abilities:
Invisibility (turn invisible, simple for a ghost)
Incorporeal Form (she actually can’t touch things if she tried, currently)
Soul Steal (steal a target’s soul, works better on weaker and weakened targets)
Devour soul (grow stronger by consuming a soul, stronger souls are more difficult to consume but are worth more. Slightly increases her magical power.)
Possess Husk(take control of a soulless body. Allows Narza to take a physical form and use that body’s magic at a fraction of its strength. She can’t preserve its health until stronger.)
Elemental Affinity for Water/Ice
Elemental Affinity for Wind/Air
Flight (ghosts can naturally fly)
Resistant to poison (How would you poison a ghost?)
Soul Sense (Sense souls around Narza, souls have to be sensed before they can be interacted with afterall)
Soul Replacement (put a soul back into a soulless body.)
Locked: (until more souls are eaten and she grows stronger)
Soul Scour (rip apart a soul for information. Narza can learn a magic if she rips apart enough souls that know that magic. Also aids in digestion.)
Corporeal Form (become solid, taking any appearance)
Elemental Affinity for Darkness
Soul Fusion (combine stolen souls.)
Lightning (subtype of Wind/Air)
Weaknesses:
Fire/Heat
Earth
Holy/Light Magic
Sanctified ground/equipment
Holy Water (somewhat nullified by Water/Ice Affinity)
Due to Narza’s Wind/Water/Darkness affinity and spirit body, she’s doubly vulnerable to light and heat. She also can’t pass through the ground like normal ghosts until she’s stronger. Additionally, Narza cannot learn any magic of opposing elements. Has no skill with weapons.
Personality: Innocent, naive, and terribly hateful. Has the personality of a young girl, the ambition of a failed dark mage, and the hatred and anger of many dozens of tormented souls. As a former twelve-year old, Narza little knowledge of the world save for the bits absorbed from her shredded inhabitants, but is curious and sharp. She’s also spiteful and mischievous, with little moral direction even without factoring in the dark mage in her. When the malice of the tormented souls wrests free of her control as they will from time to time, she’ll seemingly lose her temper without warning. Occasionally, she will ask you for your soul out of the blue when her hunger gets to be too much.
Wants/Needs: Souls, especially magical ones or those of mages.
Relationships: Likes to hang out with fellow spirits such as Narza and Umbra.
Backstory: The dark mage Narza consumed left behind a slight sense of loyalty and responsibility to the Dungeon Keeper, so she asked to serve as well, and was accepted. She has inherited the Derrik's possessions, which are:
Basic clothing: Musty dark mage robes, all black and nefarious-looking. And smelling. Narza wouldn't wear them even if she could. (Not that she floats around naked, mind you. She wears what she wore when she died (but will be able to change that later.))
Basic alchemy set
Alchemy ingredient shelf, poorly stocked (previous owner wasn't big on alchemy)
Ritual circle, high-class but defective (Since Narza was able to break free)
Enchanted storage ring, low level, holding dust, empty alchemy flasks, and dirty clothing (has a capacity space of two square meters)
Basic elemental spell tomes: A beginner's guide to Fire Magic, A beginner's guide to Water Magic, A beginner's guide to Wind Magic, A beginner's guide to Earth Magic, A beginner's guide to Dark Magic (laying in a disorderly pile on the floor.)
Arlog's Thesis on soul-binding - Abridged version (another tome
Binding and Sealing - All you need to take a Familiar (Well leafed magic tome, and frozen solid)
Enchanted dagger, for rituals and self-defense. (Never dulls, and is sharper and tougher than normal. Holds a sinister miasma since it has been immersed in dark magic and taken the lives of many innocents in cold blood. Nothing special though.)
Scrying orb of low quality (See distant locations, but only from far away, or a specific location, but must have been there before.)
Staff of Darkness (An enchanted length of wood that make using dark magic slightly easier. Even a level One mage would start with better gear than this.
Mana-recovery trinkets (Barely worth wearing, and also too gaudy.)
Various spell books (all shelved, that Narza can't get to yet since she isn't corporeal. )
Enchanted treasure chest (enchanted to resist weather effects and only open to the owner, holding a mix of souls from different races)
Other: Would be classified as an Assassin/Mage I suppose. Will do anything for a soul. |
9,490 | 268 | 49 | 268 | 1,389 | Torrens' attention was briefly drawn from the argument and fight developing before him as some of the humans started falling to the ground, unconscious. It appeared evident that one of the soul eaters of the party was at work here, taking an early pick of the spoils. "Don't forget to leave some for the others," Torrens berated the invisible entity. While he himself didn't particularly care about the slaves, he felt like doing his bit to maintain order in the Dungeon. One fight would be enough for the moment. They didn't need another fight if everyone turned around to discover the slaves they wanted all useless. His piece said, he turned back to observe the unfolding spectacle. | Name
Umbra
Physical Form
Umbra
Umbra has no real physical form, but rather takes control of various objects most often statues, and in rare occasions even people or animals. In order to get around this Umbra does have a human companion that he uses as a temporary body if the situation calls for it.
Christopher
His companion is a small child named Christopher who is around the age of 7 who stands at just under 4’. The child looks like a normal human commoner, and wears nothing but very simple clothing, a plain white t-shirt and light brown pants (both loosely fitted and slightly torn). Christopher looks very unkempt and often appears covered in dirt and grime.
Abilities
Umbra
-Possess:Umbra attempts to take complete control of the person or object for an unlimited amount of time if successful. If the object is inanimate and is unprotected from magical wards then Umbra can possess it with ease. If he is trying to posses something protected by a magical ward or something that is living than it is slightly more difficult, and if the person is strongly willed or if the object in mention is protected by a powerful enough ward than Umbra will become unable to posses said object and will become unable to repossess something for the next twelve hours.
-Inanimate Possession: If Umbra takes control of an inanimate object than he will be able to move around as that object as if it was another living being, only without the physical limitations of a normal human either, granting him as much as four times the physical capabilities of the average human.
-Living Possession: If Umbra takes control of a living being than he is able to interact with people as if he was one. Though this comes with the risk of failure due to the person’s willpower and their own physical limitations, it is often the easiest way for Umbra to get around.
-Trapped in Purgatory: When Umbra is not taking possession of an object or person he is unable to interact with the world of the living or be seen by those who inhabit it.
-Frozen Touch: If Umbra is able to pierce or cut a living thing or object it will immediately begin to freeze until the person or object is completely frozen (It can take upwards of two days to become fully frozen from a minor cut, but a major wound can take as little time as an hour). The only way to prevent this is from fully happening is by cutting off the afflicted wound, using advanced healing magic or any kind of fire based magic to stop the spread.
-Enemy of the light: When Umbra takes possession of a person or object he is unable to walk around or move in direct sunlight or any source of light as strong as sunlight, as well as unable to leave the possessed body because of it (fire lit rooms don’t affect him). If he comes into contact with any form of shade he is able to continue as if he wasn’t in sunlight.
-Personality Disorder: When Umbra takes possession of a living being he will adopt that person’s characteristics and personality completely.
-Flight: When Umbra is not taking possession of a person or object he is able to naturally fly from location to location at immense speeds.
Personality
Umbra
Umbra is often extremely apathetic showing little care for morality or others around him beyond achieving his own goals and surviving. This makes him not inherently evil nor inherently good, but rather someone who will chooses the quickest and cleanest solution to solving a problem.
Christopher
Christopher is extremely outgoing and talkative for a small child. His childlike behavior is often easily noticed, and sometimes will go out of his way to show this to those around him. He is extremely naive and will attempt to befriend anyone or anything he sees. Much like Umbra, over the couple of years Christopher has spent with him he began to lose any concern over morality. Often seeing killing or other despicable activities as normal things that you must do in order to survive.
Wants/Needs
He has two ultimate goals, to find a permanent body of his own, one that doesn’t age, need rest, or get exhausted, and to be able to move freely in the sunlight. He is convinced that “the master” will be able to one day provide this to him or at the very least find him someone who can.
Relationships
Umbra holds a close relationship with Christopher. The small child being the closest thing he could have to his son he began to grow fond of him. Eventually befriending Christopher.
Backstory
Once a wealthy man named Jackson Rider, Umbra lead a life with little care until he found a beautiful woman named Rosana, who promised to marry him if he proved that he wasn’t only wealthy, but brave. Eventually he came to the conclusion the only way to prove this was to defeat a witch outside of the village, and bring back her head to show all of the towns people. As a week passed by he prepared buying weapons, armor, and potions to eventually defeat this witch.
Eventually the time came and he set off on his journey, eventually arriving within two days. The witch though proved much more powerful than he had ever expected. To her, he was nothing but a mere bug waiting to be squashed maybe even less so. Before striking him down she found it more interesting to curse him instead. “A child born without soul to the newly wed wife. A husband to a weeping woman and a child without purpose in life. Forsaken by god and forsaken by man. Simply to prove one's bravery matches his wealth hand to hand.”
It wasn’t long before he arrived home with feelings of failure and confusion. When he went to tell Rosana of his failure, she accepted him saying “an honest man is more virtuous and worthy of being my husband than the bravest of men,” and so they married. It wasn’t long until his wife told him of her pregnancy and the child was born not long after and was named Christopher. Sadly much like the witch had told him long ago his child was born without a soul.
That day he journeyed to the witches hut, leaving behind both his wife and child. He begged and cried for forgiveness. For the witch to lift the curse on his son. She smiled wickedly and whispered. “Death will be both your salvation and your punishment.” She quickly pulled out a dagger and stabbed Umbra through the chest, whispering a chant.
When he finally awoke he was greeted by the witch. “You are no longer man nor are you demon, simply Umbra taker of lives. Forced to walk in the shoes of others and the shadows of the night. Enjoy your son’s soul for yours.”
After many years after that day, how many exactly is unknown to him, he slowly began to desire what he once lost many years ago. Eventually he stumbled upon the dungeon keeper. Sensing his power and strength he decided it would be best to seek his help. They eventually they came to a compromise, if Umbra helps him achieve his goals he will one day return the favor.
Other
-If Umbra is in the body of a living person and said living person suffers a fatal wound Umbra will not die, but rather he would suffer a great amount of pain and will be unable to possess a body for a great deal of time (usually around a couple of weeks).
-There is no real way to permanently ‘kill’ Umbra, rather you can banish him to another plane of existence. While this can be accomplished through powerful spells or other magical means, the easiest way to do this would be to destroy his possessed body completely before the possessed can die. (Note: He can technically leave the possessed body at anytime so this would be best accomplished if he was under direct sunlight, or if it was by surprise.) |
9,491 | 268 | 50 | 351 | 2,364 | The discussion about what to do next was quickly abandoned by Twich as he had already said his peace; If they wanted to go through with a different, less effective plan then that was their business. Ignoring the pissing contest that seemed to be going on between the the tigerman and the murder demon, Twich was about to respond to the human that was offering to return his potion to him when he noticed that the slaves were dropping... not quite dead but dropping none the less.
Not completely sure exactly what was happening but aware that it was cutting down the number of test subjects he would have to work with in the future and that it had something to do with one of their number, Twich sprung into action. "HEY! We haven't divided those up yet you greedy shit! Wait your turn!"
Sick and tired of dealing with these people for the moment and wishing to get back to what he loved, Twich looked over the captives that were still standing and quickly started doing the maths and trying to work out just how many of them he would be able to get away with taking for himself without raising an uproar. Almost randomly pointing at different people and saying "You." twelve different times, Twich found himself pleased with his diverse selection of ages and near split of genders before finishing "I'll take those twelve in order to help advance the course of science. I'll also take four of the bodies someone left behind in order to do some preliminary tests. With your leave Master?" Throwing this last sentence towards the Dungeon Keeper himself, even offering him a bow to enforce his groveling. The master seemed to like groveling if you did it right. | Name:
Twich
Physical Form:
Abilities:
Smarter then thou: What Twich lacks in physical strength and size, he makes up for with a cruel cunning, a twisted intellect and a surprisingly strong will.
Alchemist Training: There are only two things that an alchemist needs to be able to do in order to be a good alchemist; The ability to flip a table and be on the other side of it when what they are working on explodes and the ability to know exactly when to do this. Everything else is just icing on the cake.
If you don't want to eat it just because it has some mold growing on it, hand it over.: Twich is a kobold. They can eat just about anything regardless of how rotten its become just fine without ill effect. They are also immune to horrible smells that would make others sick.
Love the BOOM!: There is something about arson and explosions that just appeals to Twich's soul. The fact that he is very good at creating things that explode and set things on fire makes his inner hatchling very happy.
WHY?! FOR SCIENCE!: Twich doesn't always create or tamper with things to make them explode or catch fire (At least, not as the end goal). Often he likes to create concoctions or perform experiments for a large number of reasons, more often then not because he felt like it or just wants to see if the current theory in his head has any basis in reality.
Personality:
Those who meet Twich would surprisingly discover that he is, above everything else, quite civil. Those above or greater then him will get the recognition that they deserve of course but those of equal and even lower standing will be treated with professional, polite conversation when talking with Twich. They will also quickly discover that he is quite 'mad'; His mind seems to operate on a completely different wavelength then everyone around him and he often views the world far differently from other people as well.
If one really wants to see him in his prime however, all they need to do is suggest a possible alchemy or science experiment within Twich's hearing range. The quest for discovery and knowledge burns within him brighter then the flames of hell themselves; Despite this he has made it quite clear to several demons that have offered him deals for knowledge and alchemist/scientific discoveries in exchange for his soul that he is not interested because 'That was the path of cowards and fools'.
Even the most evil of beings would find the calm, professional and somewhat detracted approach that Twich takes with his experiments rather... unnerving. Almost all of his experiments are performed on live test subjects... often without their knowledge let alone consent.
Wants/Needs: A bigger lab, more resources and freedom to explore with his various fields of science and alchemy. First pick of any group of slaves and captives with no questions asked as to why he wants/needs them. The right to take any student that he wishes.
Relationships: Fairly civil, shows the needed respect to those that require it.
Backstory: Twich was born to the Snakebiter tribe, a kobold tribe that had its tunnels located underneath a somewhat poisonous swamp. Taken to be trained as an alchemist rather early on when he showed he had a knack for it, Twich rather quickly learned everything that his tribe knew about it and found himself consumed by the desire to learn more. At first traveling to other kobold tribes to study, Twich soon found himself learning from many of the other underworld denizens in exchange for his services; At times he even found teachers among the more open minded of the surface dwelling races. When he ran out of teachers who could offer him new knowledge, Twich wasn't satisfied. He needed to know more and that meant he needed to create more things to learn himself.
This is rather challenging as an independent working alone... but with the raise of the Master and his 'Hordes of Darkness', Twich found a patron who could make his dreams and desires a reality in exchange for his services.
Other: - |
9,492 | 268 | 51 | 1,449 | 5,930 | While normally the completion of a mission would have instilled Clotho with at least a small amount of pride, she felt that the triumph over the village inspired precious little to be proud about. It had offered no challenge, and in ignoble defeat, offered little in the way of valuables. Sure, the horde of imps had turned up some mildly worthwhile things buried here and there, but such a simple settlement hosted very little in the way of anything that would intrigue the swarm queen. Gold and slaves did not excite her; only power and control would suffice, and with the paucity of effort that it had taken the Master's army to crush the hamlet, she felt her skills had been poorly showcased.
As such, after respectfully attending the Dungeon Keeper's speech and not at all questioning his meager take, Clotho quickly retired. Forced to move slowly to accommodate her two new works, she led her way through the tunnels, hallways, and edifices of her Master's underground dominion to a little corner she called her own: the Hive. Here, rather than stone, wood, or earth, the walls and floor were a crisp, papery substance, exactly like a wasp's nest. The humans naturally grew tremulous when asked to enter an area of the dungeon that hummed with the flutter of insect wings, but after some prodding from Clotho were convinced that, even if the bugs didn't ignore them as Clotho said they would, they'd regret defying her if they did not enter. Compared to the other sub-domains established in the dungeon, Clotho found only her niche habitable. It was certainly lively, not for the least part because the swarm queen's largest minions also made their homes in the vaulted hive.
She directed the two to a small chamber with cots, where some time ago she herself had slept before creating for herself a more comfortable cocoon. “I want you to compile a list of all materials, organic or inorganic, that you might need in alchemical studies. My bugs will find all that can be found, and I myself will procure those that require more attention. Tomorrow, you are going to begin brewing special magical toxins and fluids for me. I'll see to it that you receive food and some basic comforts, but do not mistake providence for leniency. Only the strongest and most skilled survive in this place; I'll expect the both of you to pull your weight.” She brushed a finger on the young girl's cheek, and for a moment felt a pang of regret for stealing her away from her mother and forcing her into such a terrifying place. Of course, the other monsters would have treated her far less adequately. | Name: Clotho
Physical Form: Clotho is a foot taller than most men, with long arms and legs, and has a chitinous exoskeleton that is a dull brown-maroon in color. Four gossamer rounded wings, transparent green with orange edges, form into a cloak when not in use. Her shell forms into a barbaric-style armor around her shoulders, knees and thighs, gauntlets, and chest. Small spikes line many of the edges of her shell. Her face is crossed with seams, her nose is inhumanly sharp, and her wide mouth is lined with razor-sharp teeth. A shock of black hair more like spines protrudes from the top of her head. Additionally, her eyes are a bright, luminescent green, with layered pupil rings. Instead of hair, two membranous mini-wings protruding from her upper back form into a hood.
Abilities: Clotho's wings grant her the power of flight, which she can perform with almost ludicrous speed and agility. Her insect carapace functions like armor, affording her ample protections. Hidden inside her left forearm is the Stinger, which she can project from her palm for stabbing. The Stinger can inject a variety of toxins into a target, all of which are manufactured chemically within Clotho's own glands. Such toxins include 'poison', 'paralysis', 'mutation', 'subordination', 'blindness', and 'calcification'.
Cloth also has the ability to command bugs and parasites. Aside from conjuring flies, hornets, leeches, worms, and flesh-eating beetles, sometimes in vast swarms, she also controls her own minions in the form of Myrmidons, Lambent, and Antlions. These she orders around via chirp-calls, and she has no true leadership ability.
The true combat ability of Clotho, however, lies in her rapier. With a barbed tip, it can slide into flesh cleanly and eviscerate it on the way out. Its flexible blade allows Clotho to lash the tip around when fighting, cutting and gashing opponents as she opens them up for a thrust. Its deceptive deadliness, couple with Clotho's uncanny speed and notable strength, make it a lethal tool of destruction.
Personality: A certain conflict underlies Clotho's convincing exterior. Deep inside she is still Nona, confused and reticent and immature. This directly disparages with the aged experience of the that melded its soul with hers, whose bloodthirsty monstrosity has guided her thus far as a Keeper. The union of the two distinct spirits produced Clotho, a cunning, intelligent imperialist. Clotho is without conscious barring the distant, faint murmurs of the suppressed girl within her, and will kill without question, though good judgment keeps her from exercising this often. Though self-centered, she is more than willing to make alliances and deals for mutual gain, and will even adhere to them—an behavior unheard of among most such creatures.
Wants/Needs: Clotho lusts for power and control. She wants nothing more than to rise through the ranks of her master and become both his most powerful warrior and most trusted ally. Eventually, Clotho wishes to gain the ability to become a Dungeon Keeper herself, though she does not plan whatsoever on betraying her current master.
Relationships: None
Backstory: Clotho was once human, an urchin of Virens. This premier logging town, situated in the Oerwood Forest north of the Saploya river, was home to over two hundred thousand, but never truly to a girl called Nona. Surviving by her wits and her knack for finding odd jobs, she later became reliant on the family of Theo Rosenstern. Theo, playing the nobleman as well as the romantic, sought to feel better about his own clan's success and gain a girlfriend in the process by hanging out with Nona and helping her get by. Ever in need of aid, Nona accepted, forming an uneasy relationship with the boy while trying to make ends meet. From a young age, the Biomancer's Guild of Virens, responsible for the magical acceleration of conditioning of the city's saplings and crops, had fascinated her, but her own lowly beginnings and ineptitude for magic estranged her from the organization.
It was in this stagnation, during her nineteenth year of a woeful life, that a voice first reached out to her through her dreams. Its whispers, low and meaningless at first, grew in strength as she became more desperate, and finally its message became clear: journey into the jungle and find a special insect. After convincing Theo to accompany her, Nona left in the morning to pursue her dream. Hours later, she arrived in an unpeopled lumber camp miles from the city limits. Upon entering the shack at its center, she beheld a nasty-looking metallic green wasp confined in a jar. In a trance, she seized the jar -totally unresponsive to Theo's urges- and smashed it against the ground, freeing the wasp. Immediately it stung her, injecting into her the ancient soul of an insidious being of darkness—Kafka.
The two minds, girl and monster, melded, and in the process her own body transformed into its current state. Long before the modification finished, Theo took to his heels. That day, Clotho came to be.
From there she imposed herself on the forest, thinking to become a force of darkness. Though the self-appointed Vermin Queen stockpiled quite the retinue of mindless insectoid minions, and gave the nearby towns a great deal of trouble, she never quite lived up to the status of an evil overlord. After a botched attempt to obliterate her former hometown caused an army of avenging townsfolk to converge on her lair, she fled south until she happened to find one of the Overlord's bands. After wiping the plains with them, she sought the Overlord's dungeon, and pledged her service to him without question. |
9,493 | 268 | 52 | 538 | 2,678 | The Overlord felt a sort of bitter triumph when Shukra knelt. It was an embarrassment to have to even suffer such insolence from one of his minions in the first place, yet at the same time it was pleasing to dominate his minion and put him back into his place. The groveling, quick apology, and explanation on Shukra's part would spare the warlord from much further embarrassment or punishment. Just as the warlock was about to summon That Which Consumes Peace, the demon having already left the meeting with eight captives, That Which Consumes Peace returned on his own volition.
Having apparently heard or otherwise sensed the accusation, the Master sensed the shadowy demon's form traveling through the dim tunnels of the dungeon with unnatural ease. That one was comfortable in the shadows, it would seem. A few moments later, That Which Consumes Peace made a sudden appearance, and a rather violent and dramatic one at that as he proceeded to strike Shukra without warning. The Dungeon Keeper half listened to his minion's tirade whilst trying to process all of this sudden information and decide what in hell's name he was going to do about this wretched situation.
When Narza's name came up, he did shoot her a glance. It was quick enough so that some might miss it, but she would not; it was impossible to not feel his burning gaze, even on your back. Narza would be aware of the fact that her Master knew.
However, before he could decide upon a course of action or what he would say, That Which Consumed Peace suddenly finished his spiel. Everyone, minion and human slave alike, were staring at the warlock and waiting for his response, while the Master could only freeze, at a loss for words. This was a rare glimpse at the Master's weakness and poor leadership; it was evil's nature to quarrel and fight amongst themselves, and this Keeper was more often than not content to simply allow infighting to occur. He didn't know how to mediate or create stability. After a few moments, he bought time by casting a look in the humans' direction.
"These prisoners have both heard and seen far too much," the warlock suddenly declared. Gesturing at the chained humans one by one, he cast spells upon them. The shadows in every dark crevice suddenly were animated to life and began crawling across the cavernous floor over to the helpless humans, encasing and smothering them in an impenetrable layer of darkness. Like a cocoon of spider's silk, the darkness would restrict their motion and speech. It would also prevent them from hearing even their own muted screams. The living darkness would allow them barely enough air to breathe in order to stay conscious, thus ensuring that they would stay calm and cease struggling, or else pass out. While he did that the warlock noticed Narza's feasting, though he was far too preoccupied with the current dispute to react to it.
After that long pause to the conversation, the Dungeon Keeper at last spoke, "Yes. I witnessed the rampage of That Which Consumes Peace. Yet that does excuse your spiriting off captives without so much as bringing them here and staking your claim before us. You are to return the humans that you stole to me. The imp taskmasters need more hands to do their work here, and so those humans will be their slaves. It will spare me the effort of summoning more imps, and spare you from being stabbed in the dark or hunting down deserters."
The Master scoffed before explaining his last comment, "Did you really intend to bring a meager dozen humans into your army of orcs, and expect them to serve well as replacements? Such foolishness, to give them weapons and expect them to meld right into your army. At best your orcs would slay them, at worst the treacherous humans would have fled your camp in the hills to warn the other villages, or tried some other treachery."
Then he turned to That Which Consumes Peace. Scowling, he growled in a low tone, "It is strange for you to speak of treason, for I find that such thoughts only cross the minds of traitors themselves. In any case, your actions have created a mess; an attack on a mere hamlet should have been easy and yielded no casualties. We were worse off for your presence. This," the Keeper said as he gestured to the room, referring to the spectacle of the petty argument, "is an embarrassment." A sickly glow began to emanate from one of the warlock's hands as he conjured forth his vile black magic. In not even a second, that glow of light suddenly turned into a whip of fire as green as envy. Without warning, he lashed that whip at That Which Consumes Peace.
The soulfire, as the whip was made of, burned with an unnatural heat that not even Torrens could have matched. Rather than consume any tangible items like normal fire, this magical flame consumed one's very soul. Brief contact from the whip's lash would not harm the physical form of That Which Consumes Peace, but it would strike the demon at its very core and inflict an indescribably tortuous amount of pain, if only for a few moments. After the whip flashed forward and cracked, lighting the entire room with its blindingly bright glow, it vanished.
After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, the Master spoke, "You would do well to redeem yourself with future success. Those in my services are expected to pull their own weight."
Despite the pain that he inflicted and the harsh punishment, the Overlord notably did not have That Which Consumes Peace return the captives that he had earlier claimed. They, along with many other things, would be taken away if the demon continued to be a disappointment. Shukra had only had his meager dozen humans confiscated as a statement against his deception; while others might see it different, the Master saw it as a slap on the wrist. What were a few worthless humans, anyways?
Silence still pervading the room, the Master said, "Let us resume. Is there anything else that must be said, any more spoils that you lot would lay claim to?" | Name: Whatever his real name is, he hasn't told any of his minions. He demands to be called the Overlord, Master, Dungeon Keeper, or simply 'boss'.
Physical Form: He may appear to be just human, a simple warlock, but make no mistake: possessing that frail human body is an ancient and incredibly powerful demon. The demon's unadulterated malevolence is made visible to the eye by the glowing lines and strange symbols that adorn his face, and his crimson eyes that seem to reflect the deepest pits of hell like a lake reflects the moon.
Abilities: The Dungeon Keeper is essentially a demigod; he is aware of everything that happens inside his own dungeon (and with some simple magic he can see what is happening elsewhere), with a flick of his wrist he could incinerate a dozen people, and overall he could match at least five or six of his champions at once, blow for blow. On top of this he is a powerful warlock, capable of performing all manner of black magic, summoning monstrous beasts or brokering deals with other demons.
He has two fatal weaknesses, however: the first is his human form. He is not the sort of demon that is a massive hulk of red flesh; he is stuck within this fragile body, and while he is harder to kill than a normal human he is still an easy target for any that can withstand his might for long enough to retaliate. His second weakness is that all of his power stems from what he refers to as his Dungeon Heart, and so this heart must be protected at all costs. For these two reasons, don't expect to see him fighting much. He'll have his champions doing that sort of dirty work.
Personality: He is ruthless, seemingly without compassion or care for anything. Brutal and valuing effectiveness over all other traits, one of the quickest ways to his good side is to obey his orders and exceed his expectations. He is not much for words, and not terribly approachable either. Still, if one of his minions hatched a devious enough plan, he might at least listen and consider it.
Wants/Needs: He's utterly hellbent upon enslaving the mortal races and conquering the world.
Relationships: Unless listed otherwise, he feels rather neutral towards your character, or hasn't been left with any impression.
Twich - He's watching this one. Twich seems both competent and useful, so the Master likes him.
That Which Consumes Peace - The Dungeon Keeper is rather agitated with him, after the incident with Shukra.
Shukra - Shukra seems rather ballsy and arrogant. Even though the Master took Shukra's side, he still feels that the warlord might need to be put in his place.
Athinar - Bold, and seems like he might be a good leader. While he doesn't necessarily like Athinar, he will humor his request and grant him a few chances to prove himself as a leader.
Backstory: This invasion of his has been years in the planning; for many centuries he writhed in the abyss of the infernal realm, until he finally managed to escape into this world. Then, he lurked in the darkness, always on the run, biding his time until he sensed that the time was right. Now, that time has come, and through various means he's been gathering together a horde of evil the likes of which this world hasn't seen in thousands of years. |
9,494 | 268 | 53 | 2,360 | 668 | While the Master's minions squabbled and schemed in the dungeon, Kor simply skulked in the shadowy corner of the caves that he claimed as his own. He had no room; he had no need for a room. Every last one of his possessions was already on his accursed body. The impaled human still hung from his sword, but he had absolutely no use for it so he let the meat sack slide down to the floor before it became completely dried out and a pain in the ass to remove. He simply kicked the corpse to the side for the imps to play with, or perhaps that Kobald would use it for one of his mad experiments. Either way, there was little from the spoils that interested Kor. What use had he for a slave? He was a Darkwraith, he ate, sowed chaos, and basked in the dark. How could a human slave help him with that? And the humans, now captive, would not even make a decent meal. Their spirits were broken, their hope depleted; they were morose shells of their former selves; they were rotten. It was well that the master took them away.
However, there was one thing in the spoils that caught Kor's eye. It must have come from the manor, for it was so finely crafted, and it was an object that any bipedal creature, no matter how depraved, could appreciate. When the Master made one last call for his minions to lay claim to the spoils, Kor stepped forward. When he approached the Dungeon Keeper, he dropped to one knee and bowed his head in deference without demeaning himself as the other groveling minions had. "My lord," he began in a tone that was surprisingly formal for a creature born in a black Abyss. "When your imps looted the manor, they brought back one object that has caught my attention." He gestured toward the the pile of loot that still remained and pointed to the object in question. "With your permission, I would like to lay claim to that chair." It may have seemed like a strange request, but hell, even minions of darkness want to rest their ass on something other than stone.
However, one could suspect an ulterior motive. After such flagrant displays of, greed, disrespect, and insubordination, Kor was the only one to show their Master -- and indeed few seemed to realize the meaning of that word -- truly proper respect. And, he was the only one to ask before taking. | Name: Darkwraith Kor
Physical Form: The darkwraiths are beings that were once humans, but were twisted to depravity through the temptation of a dark serpent. These beings feast on the souls of their victims, and also on their very humanity. The darkwraiths have a drug-like addiction to humanity and in feasting on it, they drain the sanity from their victims to retain their own. Their skeletal appearance is actually a suit of armor granted to them by the serpent. Beneath it, the a healthy darkwraith looks very much human, but a starved one will have their nature revealed with wrinkled, rotting flesh. Kor stands at about six feet. Beneath his helmet, his face his stern and gaunt, with unkempt black hair and dark brown eyes. He has a muscular build derived from years of hunting down his prey.
Abilities: The Dark Hand- This is the magic weapon granted to all darkwraiths by the serpent. It is a manifestation of the darkness in their souls, and in its idle form appears to be an ethereal orb of blackness with streaks of red squirming about its wielder's hand. The Dark Hand can warp into both a sword and a shield with a complete physical manifestation. Due to the ethereal nature of the Dark Hand, it cannot be broken, but at the same time it will often yield to sturdy materials.
Lifedrain- The most feared of the darkwraith's abilities. The user channels his hunger into his Dark Hand and lunges at a victim. Upon contact, he drains the victim of his humanity. This does no physical damage to the target, but destroys its sanity, turning it into a soul-starved creature that will attack friend and foe alike. This ability does not work on those that are already corrupted or depraved, but on those that are valiant and righteous.
Abysswalker- In this world, there exist magics, indeed entire planes, forged from darkness itself. The darkwraiths are one of the few beings that thrive in such darkness. They are immune to the effects of darkness-based magic and can freely navigate through any realms made of darkness.
Red Eye Orb- A blood-red orb with a menacing eye carved into it. This orb seeks out the pure of heart, and once a target is located the orb will begin to pulsate. Once the target has been located, no amount of walls or barricades can stop a Darkwraith. They can use the Red Eye Orb to transport them to the general vicinity of the target. This comes with great risk, though. The orb does not reveal who the target is or what defenses are established, and it will only bring them withing 100 feet of the target. The darkwraith may be stepping into his own doom.
The Dark Sword- The melee weapon of choice for darkwraiths. The Dark Sword is a straight sword with a thick, wide, blade. The additional mass makes it good for staggering heavily armored foes. Though heavy, Kor can wield this blade masterfully, preferring to unleash a flurry of quick strikes rather than large single strikes.
Ring of the Evil Eye- Legend has it the this ring contains the spirit of a terrible monster that assaulted the lands long ago. Now, the power of this beast's cruelty is channeled into the bearer. With every slain foe, some of the wearer's energy is restored, and light wounds begin to heal.
Personality: In a word, voracious. Where others look at a battle and see terror and carnage, glory and honor, Kor sees a king's feast. These peaceful times have left Kor anxious and irritable from his hunger, but once his appetite becomes satiated he becomes as morbidly jovial as the next minion of darkness celebrating his victory.
Wants/Needs: Kor is driven by a relentless hunger for souls and humanity, but also takes pleasure in the dark. However, Kor is also reasonably intelligent, so any tools that would assist him in his hunt would be seen as an ample reward.
Backstory: Kor was once human, but that is all he remembers of his days before he was a darkwraith. For one reason or another, Kor found himself at the bottom of a pitch-black chasm, unmarked on any maps. He was terrified a first, but then he heard the voice of the serpent. It was a soothing voice, an infallible voice: "You were born from the Dark, why do you fear it?" Kor's pulse slowed and he sat upright. That's right, it was only darkness, there was no reason to be afraid. "Ah, you are not like the others who tremble at the Dark! Come, let me give you this gift, and you can be the savior to usher in a new age!" Naturally, the years of hiding in the shadows merely to sustain his own existence was grueling for Kor. However, when he heard of the new dungeon keeper, the prospect of open combat was appealing, plus he liked the new age that the dungeon keeper wanted to usher in. |
9,495 | 268 | 54 | 2,751 | 60 | The appearance of That Which Consumes Peace was expected. What wasn't was the sudden assault against Shukra, causing him to be sent a few feet and onto his side. Had he been in a better position, he would have remained upright and only skid a few inches. But, thanks to him being on his knee and expecting the presence of the Master to keep the others at bay, he was blindsided, and was now forced to pick himself up off the ground, rubbing the back of his hand against his cheek. It stung, but his pride was bruised more than his face. If they'd been anywhere else, in the presence of anyone else, he'd light that demon up like a bonfire and watch it burn to ash. As it were, though, he held still and waited for the demon to finish his accusations, before scoffing. He would hold his tongue, though. This was the Master's decision to make.
And he did not try to defend his reasoning or what he would have done with the humans. The Master did not wish to hear it, and he did not have the patience to explain it. So, he merely nodded, and would have them returned. There were always other villages, more humans. While his faced remained as a calm irritation, a smirk came to his face and he had to hold back a laugh as the Master whipped That Which Consumes Peace with light, the demon's weakness. Once the entire spectacle was complete, Shukra rubbed his sore cheek once more, and glanced around the room.
"Master, if I may be so bold," he began, bowing his head before looking up at the warlock, "few in this dungeon would have use for the weapons and armor, especially those with enchantments. My men can make use of them, far better than the imps here. If neither you nor one of the others objects, I would like to have them and distribute amongst my ranks, so that they could be put to some use, rather than be a trophy for an imp." He gave a disdainful look to one of the little monsters, then once again bowed to the Dungeon Keeper and waited for a response. It was a ballsy move, after just having his prisoners taken away, however he did have a feeling that his Master would see some reason. At worst, he would simply say no. Or strike him for his arrogance. Either way, he would take whatever was given to him. | Name: Shukra
Gender: Male
Race: Rakshasa
Physical Form: Standing at a proud seven feet even, Shukra is a monster to behold, with flowing black fur the color of ash with stripes that glow like flames. His eyes glow the orange of fire, and his maw is filled with razor sharp teeth like his tiger cousins. Each finger is tipped with a razor sharp claw, and a long tail swishes behind him. Few have survived the attempt of touching it. Adorning his body is a suit of ancestral armor, worn by the honor guard of the ancient Rakshasa emperors, made of an unknown metal and inlaid with gold. Aga, his sword, lays on his hip, made of the same metal as his armor and covered in a runes that glow like embers.
Skills/Abilities
Voice of the Emperor - A gentle reminder that he is your better. Every word he says will influence the thoughts of the weak willed and unintelligent towards what he wants.
Breath of the Dragon - Fire is his ally, and so he has garnered an immunity to its effects, and can manipulate natural fires or create his own through magic.
Strength of the Tiger - He is naturally tougher and stronger than most other races, and has, at one point, torn an orc chieftain in half with his bare hands.
Speed of the Snake - While he is not the fastest man to live, he can outrun any human with ease, and his reflexes are far superior to most others.
Blade of the East - He is a good swordsman, but by no means the best.
Personality: Shukra is confident that he, because of his race, if not himself as a person, is superior to all others, especially others. As such, he will rarely give the time of day to others he sees as below him, and those that he has managed to come to terms with as them being his equal, he will at least attempt to be civil with them, in his own special way as an ass. The rare occasion he'll find someone who has proven themself to be his superior, he's found an unnatural and unhealthy obsession with being under their service. Up until the point where he's confident enough to kill them and take their place, but with the current Dungeon Master, he is unsure of his ability to do so. However, he does have a soft spots for his servants, and gets legitimately enraged when he finds out his lackeys have been killed.
Wants/Needs: Shukra wants one thing: To restore the glory of the Rakshasa, even if he is the only one left. Land, subjects, and cities to lord over are what he wants, for those that are lesser than him to submit and become become his, one way or another. That, and to become strong enough to deserve the title of King.
Backstory: In the jungles to the east, there are stories of the rakshasas, demonic tiger men that lorded over lesser races. They were brought down by great heroes, or sealed away by powerful mages. But, there were some that managed to escape persecution by their servants and peasants. Shukra, once a steward and guard to a more powerful rakshasa. He escaped, and went into a dormant state. However, he was recently awakened by a clan of orcs, deep underground. Shukra is unsure of how he got there, but after slaying the chieftain of the orcs, he took command of their clan and drove them to the surface, forcing them to become strong, smart, cunning. He's lead them close to the surface, where others of their kind and other degenerates forced underground by the humans to hide and cower have gathered. That is where he shall begin his ascent, and return to glory.
Other: His sword, Aga, is made of an unknown metal and covered in red runes that glow like embers. Because of the magic in these runes, the sword is impervious to rust, will never dull, and will never dent, and is immune to all but the strongest of magics. He also has a clan of orcs under his command, which is convenient at times.
The Vorhaas Clan |
9,496 | 268 | 55 | 215 | 1,683 | Athinar viewed the proceedings with a wicked grin, one that even the Master would see. He approved of the punishment, even if he thought that the oversized pussy was in the wrong. No matter what he thought, believed, the Boss was always right. Athinar stepped up behind Consumes Peace, and patted him on the back, roughly, mocking sympathy. "That's rough, mate." Winking at Shukra, he simply said one word. "Pussy." Turning away, and to the Boss, Athinar smiled, and clapped. Athinar genuinely liked the Boss's leadership style, even if it was somewhat lackluster.
Athinar decided to take the bold approach. Fortune apparently favored that, or would, if he hadn't punched her in the throat, three years ago. Smiling broadly at the Boss, he said, speaking to the Master alone, although letting the others hear him, "Hey, Boss, I like your style, I really do, but might you consider delegation? Organization is necessary to win in a battle." Back at the monastery, the monks had taught him well, they really had. He might come off as having a one-track mind, but he does know most everything that there is to know about combat, even if he isn't a good strategist, he was a good tactician. Placing his gauntleted hand on his chest, he said, "I hate to say it, but while everyone here is either a good leader, or powerful, or a good strategist, I am possibly one of the best tacticians in here. So, Boss, the only thing I want to talk about now is a request. Would you put me in a position to oversee these fools, at least in the middle of raids and battles?" Hopefully the Boss would listen, and Athinar beating up Lady Luck three years ago wouldn't come to bite him in the ass. | Name: Athinar Gol-Gaia
Physical Form:
Tall, well-muscled, and stable, he is the pinnacle of physical perfection, even by the standards of some who would call themselves 'Immortal'. He is 6'8", and weighs at 300 pounds, in his normal form.
In his alternate form, he gains a sentient sword, and a set of armor which is actually part of him. In this form, sometimes his face is visible, but more often than not, he keeps his mask on. He is 7'0" even, and weighs 450 pounds.
Abilities:
Normal Form / Carnage Form - Athinar has decided to forgo magic that affects others, in favor of a magic that supplements his already impressive strength. His Carnage Form is a shell, which looks like armor, but actually is a super-dense exoskeleton. While in this form, he is significantly slower, but is immensely more powerful in terms of strength and defense.
Summon: Carnage Blade - Athinar has the ability to summon his Carnage blade at any time, however it is smaller and less impressive when he's not in Carnage form, although it still is alive, and speaks to him. The blade's name is Requiem. what the sword looks like, except with glowing red runes down the middle.
(Normal Form - Rock Style) Blood Palm - Athinar uses the blood spilled by anyone, including his own, in a fight, to empower his fist's attack.
Martial Arts - Athinar was trained in three forms of martial arts by the monks. However, he is only the equivalent of a black belt in one, and slightly competent in the others.
(Skilled)Rock Style - Athinar stays solid, and in place, for the most part. He uses his fists, elbows, and occasionally trips the enemy, but tries to keep his feet steady. For if he can, not much in the terms of human force can move him, but if anyone has trained in Windstance (or was strong enough), they could move him through sheer momentum and weight transfer.
(Beginner)The Path of the Cyclone - Not so much a martial art as a series of moves, executed one after the other, this unarmed style is used to fight large groups of enemies. There are twelve moves altogether, in three groups. However, Athinar was only taught the first group, and cannot continue the momentum of the Path.
- Leaping Tornado: Athinar lunges forward, landing among his enemies.
- Unseen Tempest: Athinar waits three seconds for enemies to close in, ready to strike.
- Stormblade: Athinar ducks down beneath a man's weapon, and elbows him in the chest/neck area.
- Cyclone Kick: Athinar does a roundhouse kick, tripping all surrounding enemies.
However, these are usually poorly executed, due to lack of training.
(Beginner) Celestial Mirage - This is possibly the martial art that he's learned that he has the most trouble with. It is a kick-based martial art, one that forces you to maintain patience. It's attacks come in bursts, to draw the enemy out, and allow the student to analyze the situation. However bad Athinar is with this, it was still one of the arts he learned from the monks, and he views it as a useful, albeit F*CKING INFURIATING skill.
Personality: Athinar gets intense pleasure from seeing other creature's blood. No matter the circumstances, or whether he is allied with them or not. When he is not getting excited by bloodlust, he is usually a very calm, collected individual, who is quite intelligent, surprisingly. When blood is near, he turns into a vicious man, taking pleasure in drawing blood, tasting it, etc. Afterwards, he is, shall we say, *ahem* easily excitable. If you know what I mean. However, this doesn't mean that he's not smart. He is extremely smart, in his bloodlust, and will be able to craft plans on the fly, if they end in violence and killing.
Relationships:
Emily- Thinks that the homunculus is beneath his attention, generally, unless she does something big and shiny.
That Which Consumes Peace- A fool, disobeying the Boss, but made a nice save, getting Shukra mildly punished.
Ekushka- Hasn't met her yet.
Narza- Is quite fond of the little ghost, curretly.
Shukra- A pompous ass who fails at commanding.
Darkwraith Kor- A good fighter, like Athinar, who shares his bloodlust. Enjoys his company.
Azavarn- Too flamboyant.
Umbra/Christopher- Thinks that Christopher is a bit off, but doesn't know why.
Torrens- Doesn't have any opinion of him, but thinks that a fire demon might be useful.
Clotho- Has a strange fixation on Clotho's chitin.
Twitch- Has disdain for the ratty, well, twitchy kobold. Maybe if he actually did something, he might be useful.
Backstory: Athinar is the reincarnated form of an ex-Dungeon Keeper, banished from his former world, and born to a new life in this one. However, he don't remember shit, and the only benefits were the impressive physical abilities you see today. He was born to an order of monks, who trained him in every combat style, unarmed and armed. However, this revealed his darker secret, his love for shedding blood. Killing them all, he was guided by a voice in his head, who told him that if he joined with him, he'd get to kill, kill, and keep killing. So he met up with the Dungeon Keeper, and started killing.
Other: If Athinar seems too powerful, remember that he was converted to the Dungeon Keeper's cause by him just saying that he could kill people if he joined him. He's not dumb, but he does have quite the one-track-mind, and is quite susceptible to manipulation, in both forms. Like, REALLY susceptible. A novice hypnotist could put him to sleep. |
9,497 | 268 | 56 | 538 | 2,678 | Very well then. Take what armor and weaponry you will, then, the Keeper answered Shukra. He also permitted the Darkwraith to have his chair, though it was an odd request from Kor. Perhaps the wight saw something special about the mundane object that nobody else had? Suddenly remembering that Twich had asked his leave to take a dozen slaves before the spectacle had started, he at last turned to answer the expectant kobold.
"Your request is granted," he finally answered. It was then that he realized with the shadows over the slaves' faces, it was rather difficult to tell which ones were made defective by Narza. Not to mention that he had no clue which ones the kobold had picked out earlier. The Dungeon Keeper blessed the kobold with eyes of night, at least temporarily, so that his vision would suddenly be able to pierce the thick cocoons of shadow that cloaked the shackled slaves in the corner. With another gesture he created a dark singularity nearby, a small spot of utter darkness for all others, but to the kobold's temporarily augmented vision he would see it for what it truly was: a portal back to his own chambers. It was a rather kind gesture from the Master, who normally would have left the tiny kobold to figure out how to move the prisoners. Twich seemed both respectful and useful though, a seemingly rare combination amongst the rabble that served the Master.
"If any survive your loving care for long enough for you to want rid of them, donate them to the imps. They could always use more hands, and...entertainment."
The Keeper was then distracted by Athinar's compliment. Such a deliberate compliment or appeal to his ego made the Master suspicious; Athinar obviously wanted something. Fortunately he didn't have to guess what that something was, as Athinar proceeded to request a leadership position. After a moment of thought, the Dungeon Keeper smiled. His answer was, "A bold request; you may have potential, Athinar. Yes, you will lead one of my next attacks. Yet do not consider it permanent by any standard, for your continued rank will depend upon your success. I do not take failure lightly or kindly." At that, a chuckle reverberated from deep within the warlock's chest, a low rumble that would likely sound more like a growl than a laugh. It came not from the human body, but from the demon that possessed it. The Master wondered if Athinar knew what he was getting himself into. | Name: Whatever his real name is, he hasn't told any of his minions. He demands to be called the Overlord, Master, Dungeon Keeper, or simply 'boss'.
Physical Form: He may appear to be just human, a simple warlock, but make no mistake: possessing that frail human body is an ancient and incredibly powerful demon. The demon's unadulterated malevolence is made visible to the eye by the glowing lines and strange symbols that adorn his face, and his crimson eyes that seem to reflect the deepest pits of hell like a lake reflects the moon.
Abilities: The Dungeon Keeper is essentially a demigod; he is aware of everything that happens inside his own dungeon (and with some simple magic he can see what is happening elsewhere), with a flick of his wrist he could incinerate a dozen people, and overall he could match at least five or six of his champions at once, blow for blow. On top of this he is a powerful warlock, capable of performing all manner of black magic, summoning monstrous beasts or brokering deals with other demons.
He has two fatal weaknesses, however: the first is his human form. He is not the sort of demon that is a massive hulk of red flesh; he is stuck within this fragile body, and while he is harder to kill than a normal human he is still an easy target for any that can withstand his might for long enough to retaliate. His second weakness is that all of his power stems from what he refers to as his Dungeon Heart, and so this heart must be protected at all costs. For these two reasons, don't expect to see him fighting much. He'll have his champions doing that sort of dirty work.
Personality: He is ruthless, seemingly without compassion or care for anything. Brutal and valuing effectiveness over all other traits, one of the quickest ways to his good side is to obey his orders and exceed his expectations. He is not much for words, and not terribly approachable either. Still, if one of his minions hatched a devious enough plan, he might at least listen and consider it.
Wants/Needs: He's utterly hellbent upon enslaving the mortal races and conquering the world.
Relationships: Unless listed otherwise, he feels rather neutral towards your character, or hasn't been left with any impression.
Twich - He's watching this one. Twich seems both competent and useful, so the Master likes him.
That Which Consumes Peace - The Dungeon Keeper is rather agitated with him, after the incident with Shukra.
Shukra - Shukra seems rather ballsy and arrogant. Even though the Master took Shukra's side, he still feels that the warlord might need to be put in his place.
Athinar - Bold, and seems like he might be a good leader. While he doesn't necessarily like Athinar, he will humor his request and grant him a few chances to prove himself as a leader.
Backstory: This invasion of his has been years in the planning; for many centuries he writhed in the abyss of the infernal realm, until he finally managed to escape into this world. Then, he lurked in the darkness, always on the run, biding his time until he sensed that the time was right. Now, that time has come, and through various means he's been gathering together a horde of evil the likes of which this world hasn't seen in thousands of years. |
9,498 | 268 | 57 | 1,270 | 2,337 | He had been waiting for more of a response from the raven haired beauty about the plans for a second raid when others joined in the idea, if they all went then it would go just as badly as before. If the keeper wanted to take on an army, they could do it if only for the fact that there is so much chaos in the ranks that the enemies could never make a proper plan to counter it. That chaos peaking when they begin to squabble in his very presence.
For just a moment he thought he saw hesitation in the keepers body language, imps were one thing, but infighting amongst the strongest he could assemble is reason to falter, but he did well enough to merit out a blinding lash of hellfire that even he had to shield his eyes.
Octavius turned his raised hand once the time for requests was made, using his meager magics to make the stockpile of magical arms and armor glow visibly for all to see.
"I'll take a claim from those, but I'd like the chance to catalog them better before making my choice." | Name:
Tiberius Octavius Pulcher, "The Dashing Bastard"
Physical Form: "I put the gore in gorgeous!"
6'6" and 300 of tight body tone. Unarmored, he has a score of scars running him over from a decade in the arenas. His eyes are a fine gray with a catlike shimmer of silver in the back.
Abilities:
Curse; The cornerstone of the hexblade, the ability to lay a witches malicious befuddlement upon intended targets. Not an attack in of itself, it is a go-to weakening of the enemy before engaging. He often pairs the curse with a memorized intimidation to follow up and bring most to cower before finishing them off in a single blow.
Resistance; Like a paladin, he can rely on his sheer strength of will to help shrug off attacks to mind body and soul.
Mettle: Those that he cannot avoid, he tries do bear down and endure, taking the lesser of the worlds woes when he has the chance.
Prestidigitation: Because of the hexblade's calling, Octavius' desire to know more about his arcane abilities manifests itself beyond the ability to curse and the he is able to cast minor prestidigitations at will.
(Item) familiar: Where most would bond to a creature from elsewhere for more power, he has strengthened the bond with his sword to a supernatural level.
Aura of unluck: Once per day Octavius can create a baleful aura of misfortune. Any melee or ranged attack made against the hexblade while this aura of unluck is active has a higher miss chance. Activating the aura is a free action, and the aura lasts for a full minute.
Spells: Like a sorcerer, he uses his sheer strength of will to manifest magic in the world. He just severely lacks the dedication most others would possess by this time.
0 Message
0 Dancing lights
0 Mage hand
0 Detect magic
0 Acid splash
0 Distupt undead
1 True strike
1 Shocking grasp
1 Color spray
1 Identify
2 Eagle splendor
2 Flaming sphere
Personality:
Truly Octavius' greatest strength is his overwhelming charisma, wielded as a weapon as much as his sword. He brings it to bear to cow the most stalwart of enemies and draw up the crowds to a screaming frenzy in the arena.
He is a patient man in combat, often letting the others go first before he devastates them.
He had devoted his life to death, Hades specifically, as a way to deal with the loss of his family. But one can only lash out for so long. In time the burn in his hearth grew cold and hollow so he turned to ways to fill the hole, most often drinking and tavern wenches. But in the end he still fell back to his oldest friend, death. Its more of a bad habit than an addiction, but every week he makes his way to some manner of arena to put himself in the ring.
He's smarter than he ever lets on, by no means is he a genius with lifetimes of knowledge. He's just more experienced that he'd like to be in the way the world works. The best thing he always reminds himself 'always assume they are better than you in every way and plan to fail'.
Relationships:
Since his arrival, he has taken a keen interest in Tinkerhel, She might be a nymphomaniac, but he thinks there is a whole lot more going on in her head.
Backstory:
Octavius' tale is not at twisted as many might think. His parents were simple farmers, his grandfather was a retired army officer who was too maimed to bear spear. When his chores were done for the day, his grandfather would train him in a longsword so big the boy needed both hands to wield it.
Suns rose and set for a decade until the boy on cusp of manhood could now wield the longsword in a single hand. But now he was starting to think with the dagger between his knees and had his eye on the girl across the creek. They were promised to each other and their parents agreed to the union. Sadly, the fates have more in mind than a happy farmer.
A merchant cart heavy with goods came to the farm, asking for a night in the barn for a few silver, all was well until the bandits climbed out of crate and pot to slaughter the family. The boy did well by all accounts, with no armor and only a sword older than him to keep himself safe as he killed the bandit leader while the others ran. As he burned the bodies, he was visited by a lady paladin of Hercule and her ancient wizard. One of his first life lessons about the bigger world would be that halflings and dwarves clearly age differently.
She could see he was strong, strong enough to carry her stuff as his squire as he had nothing left for him here, indeed, he had no other ways to go but with them or try his own. He tried to learn magic cantrips from the wizard but had no luck compared to the combat she refined from what his father gave him. She was teaching him how to fight in armor, a skill he lacked, when they came upon a wizard of the dead.
They made their way to the wizards workshop when they came to discover he was just finishing his ritual to litchdom. The paladin took the undead in a full body tackle while the other two destroyed the phylactery, the wizard found it while Octavius shattered the device but it was too late to save her from its evil magic. The magic of the ritual burned its way into him and changed him to his very core.
Other:
His hat he got from a pirate captain to whom he served upon a ship for a year before a monster afflicted her, her hats own bubble of air was her own undoing.
At one time, he came upon a princess tiara as part of his treasure pull from a successful kidnapping of royalty. In order to dispose of the royal artifact, he had the enchantment transfered to a single jewel worn as a third eye and let them keep the rest of the encrusted property one worn by a queen as payment.
While worn, a third eye conceal protects the wearer from view by all devices, powers, and spells that detect, influence, or read emotions or thoughts. This power protects against all mind-affecting powers and effects as well as information-gathering by clairsentience powers or effects.
Given his propensity for tavern wenches and the like, he was quick to acquire a trinket from the temple of Aphrodite The wearer of this blue gem on a silver chain is immune to disease, including supernatural diseases.
Collected from the skin of a displacer beast, he had its pelt fashioned into his sleeveless longcoat with its powers still within the folds.
Worn inside out to hide its value, he keeps a vest once worn by a pyromancer who was dumb enough to think his innerfire was more powerful than a white dragon. Octavius managed to convince the dragon that the vest would melt the beasts home so he would take it far away while the dragon ate the former wizard for lunch.
Collected from a gnome adventuring party, he managed to run three through on his blade but only kept the one treasure.
1) Mount
2) Slumber
3) Phantasmal Killer
A most useful glove he keeps on hand, it once belonged to an assassin who would use it to bring all manner of gear in a backpack hidden in the stitching. When not used to hide his sword from public eye, he is often known to put his hand into a bucket full (20 pints/2.5 gallons) of holy water and secure it away for dealing with fiery or unholy creatures.
Two small but simple rings in his line of work,
A dwarven ring warded to protect the wearer from evil is actually a good choice when traveling with evil on a daily basis.
As powerful as a ring of invisibility, but far better for him as it makes eight more of him appear rather than make him vanish.
Made from the hide of a Steel dragon parading around as a priestess to Athena, she was fought and slain on her monthly hunt while she was fat and full of a heard of sheep they had left for her as an ambush. When crafted into armor, he had the choice to make the leather immune to acid or protect the wearer from poison, he took the poison protection. In truth it protects him as a full suit of armor as strong as platemail but glamored to be debatable levels of leather and hide piecemeal to suit his ego.
A prize from the arenas, once worn by a master of unarmed combat, this rope belt keeps him far more flexible than he ever could be without it.
Acquired from a fellow raider, a barbarian far from home who could outrun almost anything but a cup of envenomed wine.
These boots let him move faster than normal for moments at a time, acting as a blur when speed was needed over power.
Tattoo:
Psychoactive skin:
Morningstar
An lesser weapon best put to use when three feet of steel isn't recommended. He really hopes to replace it with a mace of disruption soon enough.
Shield
There are times when running around half naked with a greatsword isn't the best plans. When he has to play the defensive position, he uses a heavy shield with a depiction of Gaia upon it as she is of the earth as is hades.
Throwing Axe
When he needs to reach out and touch someone. He is also known to take a moment for himself to relax with all manner of pungent herb or alchemical paste into the bowl on the back.
His gift from beyond. Once, when he was a much younger lad, he traveled as a squire under a paladin of Hercules and her elderly wizard friend into the keep of a vile necromancer. Unfortunately there is a big difference between necromancer and a newly formed litch! Thinking quickly, the paladin took her bag of holding and threw it over them both to pop it away into a pocket realm for just a few seconds as the squire smashed the Phylactery on the work table. The litch turned to dust within the bag and the paladin sacrificed herself for the greater good. Octavius had an idea. He had the wizard use his magic to transmute the holy cold-iron plate-mail of the paladin to the litch dust and he had a greatsword forged from the coldiron dust.
This weapon is a Bane of the undead both solid and ghostly. Its supernaturally keen edge can store the simplest of enchantments within its Damascus folds for release at his will.
Why would a worshiper of the god of death have such enmity to the undead? To KEEP them in Tartarus where they belong!
Recently, he came upon a Devil who had a gift for Octavius. It seems the litch he had defeated so long ago had tried to use the phylactery as a bypass from the devils due. If the litch had succeeded it would have been most embarrassing and bad for business. So out of gratitude he offered the man one gift on credit, not the usual freebie sort of thing but the 'finders fee' of a wayward soul.
Thinking about it, he could easily wish to be the most or the best or the richest... but he had seen how that can bite you in the ass with previous people so he chose to keep it smaller, something he could live without; an extra enchantment on his blade. The two bickered back and forth on the who or what to be done but Octavius was rather stringent on not asking for too much, lest he rely on it too far.
In the end he got an idea from an assassin he used to know and had a small ruby inset into the pommel of his sword. This ruby would trap the soul of every victim of his sword for later that he could bring back to the devil for more credit. So far, Octavius cant find a problem with the deal and that bothers him. |
9,499 | 268 | 58 | 268 | 1,389 | After That Which Consumes Peace finished his counter-accusation, there came the critical moment. Now it was the Master's turn to act, and that realisation seemed to hit the Keeper pretty hard. The Keeper hesitated, while Torrens watched and within his mind judged the Keeper. Unlike most of the beings here, who were first timers when it came to serving Keepers, Torrens had served many Keepers before this one over many Ages of Evil. This Keeper was not an expert leader or diplomat, but that could be forgiven since Keepers very rarely if ever have to settle disputes among their own minions. In all the past Ages Keepers had conjured their own minions and Constructs, which often varied from loyal to unerringly obedient, and took only one or two Rogue Beings. However, inside this Dungeon were not one or two but at least thirteen Rogue Beings, including himself, filling a full spectrum of loyalty and temper. He could understand why the Master might err at this moment.
With this analysis in mind, Torrens deduced that the casting of the shadow spell on the slaves was to buy time to think more than any other reason, especially given the slow way he cast it, individually rather than all at once. Given that time, the Keeper had finally found words to say and berated the two beings standing before him. Then he passed judgement and punishment. With Shukra, he confiscated the stolen slaves. What he did with That Which Consumes Peace, though, made Torrens stand to attention. In the warlock's hand materialised a whip of concentrated soulflame, which Torrens instantly recognised. Before he could so much as take a step, yet alone grab a sample, the which cracked and it was gone as fast as it had appeared. He admired the control the Keeper had over the flame, controlling the strike such that the shadowy demon's soul would only be slightly burned, not catch fire and be completely immolated. For soulflame is tricky stuff to contain indeed- the foul magic behind it makes the green flames almost alive, seeking out a soul to burn unless the utmost care is taken. The moment was over, but Torrens made sure to remember that the Master had the power and knowledge to summon soulflame.
With the scene over and business shifting back to dividing up the loot, Torrens left the chamber and sought out a room to call his own. Unlike most of the other denizens, who would be satisfied with any room provided it had suitable furnishings, Torrens needed a room which would contain his thermal energy and minimise his heat loss. A lava pit would be ideal, but lacking that he knew what would be second best. He entered the Dungeon's forge, which was occupied at this time by imps preparing for the influx of metal to work with. He walked up to a group of them and said, "I have a request- well, an order, really. Build me a room behind the furnace. Reroute the furnace's exhaust into that room, so as to keep it hot. You'll probably need to conceive something to stop the smoke from coming out the doorway filling the rest of the Dungeon. And I want it done quickly. Understood?"
These imps, however, were not keen on taking up extra work. "Bah, find yerself another room. We got work 'ere to do."
In response to that Torrens slammed his hand onto the bench beside the imp and leaned over so his face was right up close to the imp. Although this imp was a furnace worker, being in such close proximity to Torrens was still deeply uncomfortable and even somewhat painful and the imp was forced to shy back. "It wasn't optional," Torrens snarled, "You build me that room, or else you'll be getting to know me a bit too... closely. Understand now?" The imp swallowed hard and nodded. Getting the response he wanted, Torrens stood back up and returned to normal tones, the only sign of his anger before being the deep, red-hot smoking hand-print in the workbench. "Good. Get to work. I haven't got much better to do." As the imps prepared to dig, Torrens went to the furnace and sat down at its opening. It wasn't particularly hot for a furnace, since it wasn't in use, but it definitely beat standing in the cold cave. | Name
Umbra
Physical Form
Umbra
Umbra has no real physical form, but rather takes control of various objects most often statues, and in rare occasions even people or animals. In order to get around this Umbra does have a human companion that he uses as a temporary body if the situation calls for it.
Christopher
His companion is a small child named Christopher who is around the age of 7 who stands at just under 4’. The child looks like a normal human commoner, and wears nothing but very simple clothing, a plain white t-shirt and light brown pants (both loosely fitted and slightly torn). Christopher looks very unkempt and often appears covered in dirt and grime.
Abilities
Umbra
-Possess:Umbra attempts to take complete control of the person or object for an unlimited amount of time if successful. If the object is inanimate and is unprotected from magical wards then Umbra can possess it with ease. If he is trying to posses something protected by a magical ward or something that is living than it is slightly more difficult, and if the person is strongly willed or if the object in mention is protected by a powerful enough ward than Umbra will become unable to posses said object and will become unable to repossess something for the next twelve hours.
-Inanimate Possession: If Umbra takes control of an inanimate object than he will be able to move around as that object as if it was another living being, only without the physical limitations of a normal human either, granting him as much as four times the physical capabilities of the average human.
-Living Possession: If Umbra takes control of a living being than he is able to interact with people as if he was one. Though this comes with the risk of failure due to the person’s willpower and their own physical limitations, it is often the easiest way for Umbra to get around.
-Trapped in Purgatory: When Umbra is not taking possession of an object or person he is unable to interact with the world of the living or be seen by those who inhabit it.
-Frozen Touch: If Umbra is able to pierce or cut a living thing or object it will immediately begin to freeze until the person or object is completely frozen (It can take upwards of two days to become fully frozen from a minor cut, but a major wound can take as little time as an hour). The only way to prevent this is from fully happening is by cutting off the afflicted wound, using advanced healing magic or any kind of fire based magic to stop the spread.
-Enemy of the light: When Umbra takes possession of a person or object he is unable to walk around or move in direct sunlight or any source of light as strong as sunlight, as well as unable to leave the possessed body because of it (fire lit rooms don’t affect him). If he comes into contact with any form of shade he is able to continue as if he wasn’t in sunlight.
-Personality Disorder: When Umbra takes possession of a living being he will adopt that person’s characteristics and personality completely.
-Flight: When Umbra is not taking possession of a person or object he is able to naturally fly from location to location at immense speeds.
Personality
Umbra
Umbra is often extremely apathetic showing little care for morality or others around him beyond achieving his own goals and surviving. This makes him not inherently evil nor inherently good, but rather someone who will chooses the quickest and cleanest solution to solving a problem.
Christopher
Christopher is extremely outgoing and talkative for a small child. His childlike behavior is often easily noticed, and sometimes will go out of his way to show this to those around him. He is extremely naive and will attempt to befriend anyone or anything he sees. Much like Umbra, over the couple of years Christopher has spent with him he began to lose any concern over morality. Often seeing killing or other despicable activities as normal things that you must do in order to survive.
Wants/Needs
He has two ultimate goals, to find a permanent body of his own, one that doesn’t age, need rest, or get exhausted, and to be able to move freely in the sunlight. He is convinced that “the master” will be able to one day provide this to him or at the very least find him someone who can.
Relationships
Umbra holds a close relationship with Christopher. The small child being the closest thing he could have to his son he began to grow fond of him. Eventually befriending Christopher.
Backstory
Once a wealthy man named Jackson Rider, Umbra lead a life with little care until he found a beautiful woman named Rosana, who promised to marry him if he proved that he wasn’t only wealthy, but brave. Eventually he came to the conclusion the only way to prove this was to defeat a witch outside of the village, and bring back her head to show all of the towns people. As a week passed by he prepared buying weapons, armor, and potions to eventually defeat this witch.
Eventually the time came and he set off on his journey, eventually arriving within two days. The witch though proved much more powerful than he had ever expected. To her, he was nothing but a mere bug waiting to be squashed maybe even less so. Before striking him down she found it more interesting to curse him instead. “A child born without soul to the newly wed wife. A husband to a weeping woman and a child without purpose in life. Forsaken by god and forsaken by man. Simply to prove one's bravery matches his wealth hand to hand.”
It wasn’t long before he arrived home with feelings of failure and confusion. When he went to tell Rosana of his failure, she accepted him saying “an honest man is more virtuous and worthy of being my husband than the bravest of men,” and so they married. It wasn’t long until his wife told him of her pregnancy and the child was born not long after and was named Christopher. Sadly much like the witch had told him long ago his child was born without a soul.
That day he journeyed to the witches hut, leaving behind both his wife and child. He begged and cried for forgiveness. For the witch to lift the curse on his son. She smiled wickedly and whispered. “Death will be both your salvation and your punishment.” She quickly pulled out a dagger and stabbed Umbra through the chest, whispering a chant.
When he finally awoke he was greeted by the witch. “You are no longer man nor are you demon, simply Umbra taker of lives. Forced to walk in the shoes of others and the shadows of the night. Enjoy your son’s soul for yours.”
After many years after that day, how many exactly is unknown to him, he slowly began to desire what he once lost many years ago. Eventually he stumbled upon the dungeon keeper. Sensing his power and strength he decided it would be best to seek his help. They eventually they came to a compromise, if Umbra helps him achieve his goals he will one day return the favor.
Other
-If Umbra is in the body of a living person and said living person suffers a fatal wound Umbra will not die, but rather he would suffer a great amount of pain and will be unable to possess a body for a great deal of time (usually around a couple of weeks).
-There is no real way to permanently ‘kill’ Umbra, rather you can banish him to another plane of existence. While this can be accomplished through powerful spells or other magical means, the easiest way to do this would be to destroy his possessed body completely before the possessed can die. (Note: He can technically leave the possessed body at anytime so this would be best accomplished if he was under direct sunlight, or if it was by surprise.) |
Subsets and Splits
No community queries yet
The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.