Gods & Men: The Ancient Myths - Chapter 1 OOC Thread (D&D/History-based RPG)

[ActRaiser]

Ah, I was thinking about this last nite.. . . 1 Point in Transformational.

[GMRPG]

Oops, I didn't post it with the img code [=IMG]http://i695.photobucket.com/albums/vv319/WhitePhoenix77/GodsandMenv1_zps91a6919f.jpg[/IMG]

There, copy that excluding the added equal sign. I have no idea what this character count thing is about though.

Also, I've been debating with myself on the race of my character(s). Would you allow Tieflings or Dragonborn in this game?

For some reason, it still won't allow me to edit it in. I keep getting the following message popping up when I try to save the changes: The title that you have entered is too long (84 characters). Please shorten it to 80 characters long.

Me am definitely confuddled...

- - - Updated - - -

Ah, I was thinking about this last nite.. . . 1 Point in Transformational.

Sounds good to me.

- - - Updated - - -

Okay, got it edited right now, as well as added Hiro and Goat to the roster.

[Meeky]

Okay. I'm working on my character sheet now, and I'm thinking about playing someone from either northern Spain or Moorish spain, if the Moorish invasion did, indeed, happen in this world. Did it? And what's the timeframe we're looking at?

This is still the Death Knight.

[Johnny Blaze]

I don't want to pin it down to a specific date, but safe to say late BC to early Common Era. This isn't really strict in following history, far as a timeline goes. So if you'd like to have the Moors having invaded part of Spain as part of your character's backstory, go for it.

[Underwaterbear]

I'll start working on my CS tonight.

[Johnny Blaze]

Sounds like awesome to me. Looking forward to reading it.

[Meeky]

Okay. Working with the Moorish invasion as a core concept behind this character's design, I went ahead and made a deity of my own since Basque pre-Christian religion seems to lack a deity of the style I need and I just don't know a lot about Moorish culture to play a Moor properly. So, without further ado...

EDIT: Note that the Moors slowly lost the land they captured over time, so at the "current" age of the roleplay, they could have lost some of the land they captured already.


* * * * *

Character you have created: Alazne de Alann

Race: Basque Human (Iberia), Death Knight

Racial Traits: Fear Aura (Death knights are shrouded in a invisible aura of death and dread. All those withing a 30ft radius are unnaturally shaken to the core and are a bit slower to react because of it; the death knight can suppress this aura if it chooses); Nightmare Mount (A Death Knight has the unique ability to summon to his side a nightmare loyal to him to serve as his steed. For info on a nightmare, see Bestiary); Dread Inspiration (A Death Knight has the unnatural ability to rally lesser undead creatures to his side. These undead remain obedient to the Death Knight until their destruction and gain a resistance to clerical turning when in it's presence. The Death Knight may only use this ability once per day); Hellfire Blast (The Death Knight has the ability to summon a blast of hellfire within a range of 400ft. The blast explodes in a radius of 20ft and harms even those immune to natural fire. The Death Knight may use this ability once per day); Undead (immune to mind-attacks, cold attacks, electrical attacks, negative energy attacks, disease, aging, poisons, polymorph, and paralysis & can only be harmed by magic and/or magical weapons; Being undead, the death knight does not need to eat, sleep, or breath and is beyond the physical wants and desires of mortals
Strength: Stronger than peak condition of base race
Speed/Reaction Time: Same as base race
Endurance/Durability: Undead (does not tire; no need for sleep, food, or air)
Agility: Same as base race

Character Class: Fighter

Patron Deity: Alazne chiefly worships The Oathbearer, a mortal man who was immortalized for being a paragon of knightly virtue and valor and for always keeping his promises. She also pays some slight worship to goodly pagan deities of Iberia and the Celts, but offers nothing to the Greek and Roman gods.

Magic: None (Save Death Knight inherent abilities)

Character Alignment (Good/Evil/Neutral): Good

Character Personality: Alazne is, even in death, bound to her chivalric code, perhaps moreso than she was in life. She is a strongly moral person, unwavering in adherence to her code. She prioritizes the preservation of innocent life first, and dispenses justice second. She does not serve any feudal lord, but instead owes fealty to "the honorable and the meek." She only takes with her what is necessary to perform these duties; all wealth she finds, she gives to the poor and to places of worship; when offered a reward, she only accepts it if doing so helps the greater good.

Despite her virtues, this undead warrior does not come across as amiable. She is cold, taciturn, and unrelenting. Only rarely does she care for joviality, and even then, it is a silent appreciation. She is direct and to the point, wasting no time on flowery words, and prefers to avoid knowing someone or staying in one place too long (though exceptions are occasionally made). In short, her demeanor is off-putting, and even those she saves may find reason to dislike her.

In truth, Alazne would love nothing more than to die. For her, death is "the final mercy" that she has not yet earned, evidenced by the fact that divinity has not seen it fit to let her die in battle. She does not actively seek out her own demise, but instead accepts that when she dies, it will be the gods' will, and she will have earned it by giving her all for the cause of justice.

Origin Info/Details: In life, Alazne was a retainer to House Alann, which itself was a retainer to the Visigoth king of Iberia (Spain). The kingdom had fallen on harsh times, and it was said that they had fallen out of favor with the heavens. Indeed, the royal house had become corrupt, falling into decadence, siring far too many bastard children, and the commoners were close to rebelling.

In this era, Alazne de Alann served the royal house loyally, believing that the old line of kings had to be maintained, and that perseverance was the only path. Though she was a woman, she was Basque; and among the Basque, warrior-women were not unheard of. Alanze was young, but she was smart and talented in martial combat. She became a knight of the Iberian court when she was eighteen, and at the age of twenty was made a personal guard of the Prince-Heir. Rumors abounded of a relationship between the two, and indeed there was one; their romance made Alazne all the more dedicated to serving her liege to the point of zealotry.

On the year of Alazne's twenty-first birthday, the Moors invaded Iberia. The Iberians, already in a state of disarray, near-rebellion and poverty, could do little to stop the invaders. The Moors quickly conquered the southern half of Spain and were pushing northward still. The Prince-Heir led an army to face them, and in the battle that followed, it was utterly crushed, and among the dead was Alazne.

The prince was desperate to keep his family's lands, and so he struck a bargain with dark powers. Enlisting the aid of necromancers and casting aside his gods, the prince forced the spirits of the dead back into their bodies, reanimating his army and forcing it to march against the Moors again. Alazne was raised among these minions, but with more power; the unlife she was given damned her, and she realized that the prince and the royal line of Iberia were truly fallen. She tried to break free of her unholy slavery, but was powerless to do so. The undead army marched south, and won battle after battle, slaughtered whole towns to add more minions to the ranks.

The army would have marched all the way to Africa were it not for divine intervention. A young archer among the Moors was blessed with divine aim, and he shot the prince in the arm from a great distance. The pain the prince suffered was just enough time for Alazne to break free of the control the prince had over her, and she slew the boy with a single swing. The undead army shattered, and the necromancers that served the prince were either slain by their Moorish foes or scattered across the plains.

Alazne, however, was not destroyed. For some reason, she remained when the rest of the undead army broke. So, when the remaining Visigoths tried to stand against the Moorish armies, she made them stand down, claiming that divine right to rule was now in the hands of the Moors. By the end of that year, almost all of Spain was ruled by the Moors, and the invasion ended.

Since then, Alazne has wandered Europe and north-western Africa, rarely staying in any one place long enough to garner much attention. She spends her unliving days putting evil to the sword, especially the undead. She intends to do just that until she is finally destroyed.

Attributes

Strength Level: Monstrous / Greater than peak human

Speed/Reaction Timing Level: Normal Human

Endurance at MAXIMUM Effort/Durability: Undead (Tireless)

Agility: Peak human

Intelligence: Above Average

Fighting Skill: Mastered

Resources: Minimal (She only has her equipment and never keeps any wealth; she also has nobody to support her should she need help.)

Notable Equipment: Alanze wears a simple, well-crafted chainmail hauberk with a tattered surcoat over it. Her boots are black leather with steel plates, and her gloves are much the same. She wears a visored bascinet to hide her pale, rotting face, and a black cloak as well. The only piece of equipment she carries that is not mundane is her sword, a magical blade that is remarkably durable and is more powerful against unnatural evil (demons, undead, fey). Otherwise, she carries a yew bow, a grappling hook, and hemp rope. She also carries a small quantity of holy water at all times, though its use pains her.

Weaknesses: Spells that harm the undead affect Alanze, though things that control the undead do not work very well anymore; she has impressive willpower. Fire works well against her rotting flesh, and holy magic causes her pain.

Supporting Characters: None.

Describe using proper English grammar what you think you can bring to the RPG: I bring roleplay. I... really don't see it as much more than that. Perhaps I could say I bring a tragic protagonist, or some unique perspective, but all I REALLY can say is "I'm offering roleplay and I hope you enjoy my style of doing so." Anything character-specific should be pretty self-evident.

"You cannot win, corpse," snarled the demon, slamming his fiery fist against the ruin's walls. Old stone crumbled beneath its touch, smoldering as it hit the floor, weakened. "You may have slain my summoners, but that has foolishly left ME to go where I wish! I will escape this cage, and YOU WILL NOT STAND IN MY WAY!"

"I will," was all the death knight said, dropping her helmet to the ground. She stared across at the demon with a cold, unblinking gaze, her knees bent, her longsword gripped tightly in two hands. Before the great, horned demon, she seemed insignificant. He stood over twelve feet tall, and infernal strength was rolling through his lean muscles. In comparison, the pale, six foot armored woman did not look to be his match.

Minutes ago, the catacombs had been lit by torches; but now, there was no need for them. Half-melted stone was spread across the floor in bricks. The smell of burning rot and decay rose in the air with the flames about the demon, and the flames that were consuming the wooden coffins, and the flames that were consuming the cultists down below. Ash littered the floor, as did now dry blood. Chaos had made its mark. It had left death in its wake, and now, only death stood to stop it.

"I will give you one chance to flee, mortal," the demon said again, its forked tongue flicking out of its mouth mischievously. "Step aside and you will remain unhurt."

The rotting, pale woman did not budge. "Fight."

The demon roared, pounding its clawed foot against the floor. "I'LL EAT YOUR HEART!" it screamed, then hurled itself toward the death knight.

The battle was a frightening thing to see. The demon swung a claw down at his smaller combatant, but she quickly stepped aside, and the demon's hand dug into the floor instead. The demon was fearsomely strong, though, and yanked its fist free of the stone before swinging it at the woman again. She swung her sword back in answer, but even though the blade glowed white when it struck the fiend and demon blood splashed out, the demon's fist collided with the woman and sent her flying back. The horned beast roared in anger, shoving its shoulders against the walls, shaking the foundation of the tomb. There was hate in its yellow eyes, hate focused entirely on the black knight.

Alazne forced herself up, using her sword like a cane, then whipped it up in front of her face and fell into a combat stance again. She waited for the beast to charge again, and it did. It came pounding across the room, breathing fire at Alazne. She could do little to stop the flames that began to eat at her clothes and her flesh, but she paid this no heed. The beast had made its fatal mistake.

The knight sprang forward, and while the monster's mouth as agape, planted her boot in its mouth. In the same motion, she thrust her weapon upward into its skull, through flesh and bone and its evil mind.

The creature roared; and again, the room shook with its rage. It yanked its head in this direction and that, tried to clamp its mouth shut, but every effort it made only hurt it more. The sword twisted in place, jutted further into its skull, and even as Alazne half-dangled from the beast's mouth, she did not let go. After many painful, fitful seconds, the beast collapsed, clawing at the floor in desperation. Its chest heaved, slowly, heaved... heaved... heaved...

Alazne shoved upward so that she could stand at her fullest. The creature's bones cracked, and she was able to step out of its mouth. She did not burn as much; the creature's blood had doused out most of the flames, and she was able to focus on the task at hand. She whipped her black cloak, then stepped slowly along to the side of the demon's neck, staring into the hateful yellow eye that did not remove itself from her sight.

"You," the demon grunted, "do not kill me. I will return again." A haughty, heavy laugh escaped the broken beast. "When that day comes, I will find you... and I will rend you limb from limb."

Alazne did not answer him with words. She hefted her blade up, and in a swoop severed the creature's head from its neck. The flames surrounding the demon died in that instant, and Alazne took a deep breath.

She stayed there for an hour in the dark. She cleaned her blade of demon's blood, restored what honor she could to the disturbed bodies of the dead. She watched as the demon's remains smoldered, slowly, turning into heaps of breathing ash until slowly, ever so slowly, even that became still. She spread holy water over these silent remains and over the slain cultists, wincing as a few drops splashed onto her hand and hissed. It was quiet, grisly work, all of it. Alazne accepted this. Such was her lot. Such is duty.

Duty was taking its toll on Alazne. She was weary of it all - the fighting, the travel, the skulking from the eyes of the living. She wanted rest. She wanted silence. To be able to set her head against something soft and simply lay there forever would be... it would be...

...It would be cowardice and pride, and a thousand innocents would suffer for it.

Alazne sheathed her sword, then started toward the stairs leading out of the catacombs. She had work still to do.

[Johnny Blaze]

Love the concept. Most definitely approved.
And, if you'd like, you can write up a paragraph or two that sums up the Moors' occupation of Spain and I can add it to the game's rundown.
I imagine Rome would be keeping a close eye on them.

[Meeky]

Hm... I'll go ahead and do just that. Here goes.

On a side note, is Brittany (the piece of land in France, not the British isles) occupied by Rome as well? I'm seriously tempted to, later, run with the 'there probably isn't a halfling nation' idea and turn it into a 'Well, there's a halfling nation NOW!' and have it align itself with King Arthur.

...I love halflings, just to be clear.


* * * * *

The Moors are ruled by a king who is considered to have both divine and royal right to govern Spain. He is the young Sultan Saavedra, like his father before him, and his lands stretch from Iberia and into Northwestern Africa. Though the conquest of Spain is a rather recent event, it has also been relatively unchallenged, and though the Moors have lost parts of northern Iberia to rebels they are still a very strong and solidified presence in the peninsula. Formally, this kingdom is known as the Saavedran Sultanate, but foreigners refer to it as the Kingdom of the Moors.

Moorish rule has been marked with a distinct lack of religious persecution. Though the mixed Afro-Arab pagan religion they have brought with them affords those who worship it more privileges than those who don't, they have not violently forced its worship on the native peoples of Spain. Indeed, in several ways, their rule has been kinder to the people than the previous line of Visigoth kings, and they have begun constructing more libraries and places of learning for those who embrace their gods. Moorish rule has expanded trade lanes to Egypt and Persia, and the blood of the Berbers and the Iberians is slowly mixing and forming a new, more unified culture.

Like all empires, however, the Sultanate has its faults; militant religious sects have begun to form, and greed has corrupted a number of its top officials. What is more, the threat of mighty Rome has stirred many in the Sultan's court to call for aggressive action. Sultan Saavedra's youth is working against him, too; his cousins plot his demise, hoping to ascend to the throne in his stead, though his chancellor (and spymaster) manages to stymie these attempts before they get out of hand.

The Moorish religion is a strange one, a polytheistic belief system including spirits and animal-gods from Africa and the Djinni spirits of the Middle Eastern world. It is considered pagan by the Romans and Greeks, a barbarous and uncivilized religion, and to an extent the Egyptians feel the same way. Still, it has blended well with the local beliefs of the Iberian peoples. Knightly figures are beginning to become part of this religion, and some have gone so far as to claim that the Moors are being influenced by Spain as much as they have influenced it.

[Blu]

Character you have created: Tyrant, Chief of the Franks

Race/Culture: Celtic (Frankish) Orc

Racial Traits: Low Light Vision,
Endurance/Durability: Slightly more sturdy than a man

Character Class:

Mystic: (Druid of Predation)
Minor Transmutation
Minor Divination
Moderate Druidic

Patron Deity: Gruumish

Magic:
Minor Transmutation
Minor Divination
Moderate Druidic


Speech Color and/or Font (actually say what you're using, i.e. Arial Black; don't go "Like this", or what not): Impact Orange

Character Alignment (Good/Evil/Neutral): Evil (If possible. I do have a minor use of Divination, but as the tribe shaman, I figured he should have that.)

Character Personality: To sum it up in one word; Belligerent. Tyrant is both champion and shaman of his people, using his druidic and transmutative powers in sync to give himself a feral, bestial body while fighting. He is a druid of predation, and as such, preaches the right of the fit and the strong to dominate the world; his tribe is meant to be nothing but apex predators, and those who are not fit will be left behind. They are highly nomadic, attacking and conquering quickly, never staying to maintain their rule over the lands. There is wisdom in his simplicity: Tyrant cares little about any cause or concept except strength. While a good pack gives a great advantage, relying on your pack for everything means you are a burden to them. His philosophy is kill and reproduce, and when you become too old and too weak to carry your own weight, die with dignity. Do not linger in that pathetic state, begging others who have the strength to slow down so you may keep up. Despite his natural state being violence, Tyrant is no fool; deception is a common tactic in all walks of life, and Tyrant devotes the needed time to any situation, and will utilize tactics over blind attacks.

Origin Info/Details: The mystic of the tribe two prior to Tyrant, upon predicting the future of the child, announced his destiny, then fled the tribe. She predicted a being of incredible power and ferocity, who would make the hearts of men and beasts alike freeze, just at the mention of their tribe's name. A being who could crumble empires and armies with his raids and ambushes. But she saw a being as heartless and cruel as the aspect of nature he would draw his shamanistic power from; predation. He would cull the meek, not only of his foes, but of his tribe. The orcs, having lived in relative peace, would never know rest. For many, this was an awakening to glory, and the salvation of their tribe. But many parted, knowing they could never survive such ruthless measures.

Attributes:

Strength Level: Peak Human

Speed/Reaction Timing Level: Normal Human

Endurance at MAXIMUM Effort/Durability: Above Peak Human

Agility: Weak Human (He is muscle bound)

Intelligence: Below Average (I am used to Wisdom being separate from Intelligence, so not sure how to respond to this. He isn't knowledgable, and probably couldn't be taught math, but he is difficult to fool, and has keen instincts.)

Fighting Skill: Trained - His technique is feral, but affective. He relies on druidic and transmutation magic to compensate for his lack of discipline

Resources: Minimal-Large - His resources are entirely based on raiding, so it depends on what he has managed to take lately.

Notable Equipment: With the exception of Messer, which is a tribal relic, all of Tyrant's magical items are actually trophies that became magical.
Messer - The gigantic, one edged greatsword, shaped roughly like a giant knife. Despite it's humble appearance, it was once a potent artifact of his tribe. When his tribe was glorious and feared, a true tribe of orcs that any would thump their chest with each saying of its name, Messer matched the tribe. As the tribe fell into disrepair after generations of weak champions and lazy mystics, the Messer turned from dark grey adamantine to stone, and began chipping away. While the tribe's reputation is being restored, and Messer is growing stronger and regaining some of its magical abilities, it will never return to its old glory unless the five still missing shards are returned.
Current Powers: Messer is a magical weapon, able to harm creatures that are not normally able to be harmed by weapons. It's massive weight allows powerful swings, and it retains a sharp edge despite its condition. In the hands of an orc, however, the weapon grows much fiercer, magically carrying through with extra weight on all swings, making it far more effective. Wounds from Messer are difficult to heal, even with magic, and will continue to bleed without serious intervention.

Beastskin Armor Spikes - Tyrant's leather armor is covered in bone spikes from various kills. These spikes remain rigid and sharp. When he uses his druidic magic to change into a beast, or transmutation magics to change his size, the armor changes with him, adjusting to his new form.

Necklace of Fangs - Tyrant is a slayer of many feral monsters, not all of which are natural. While normal druidic magics only allow people to take the forms of natural animals, Tyrant can turn himself into monstrous beasts by killing one and placing its fang on his trophy necklace.
Current Monsters: Worg, Manticore, Dire Snake

Claw of the Hunter - This 'item' is actually a feature of Tyrant himself. His left hand grows strange, eldritch claws. They work as soon as they contact the body of his foe. These claws allow him to hunt any prey that escapes: Tyrant is automatically aware of the direction his quarry escaped in, and he can track them by scent, regardless of distance. This effect is not considered scrying, but it can be blocked by using a magical method to eliminate one's scent. This feature is a part of Tyrant's left hand; if he were to die, or it were to be severed from him, keeping the severed hand on one's person would cause their left hand to grow the same claws.

Skull of the Dullahan - Taken from the held head of a headless horseman, this skull let's Tyrant summon a spectral horse.

Weaknesses (If your character has any specific weakness, such as a vampire's weakness to sunlight (among other things) or a Faerie's weakness to iron, list them here): Spirit of the Predator - While he has a god, the source of his divine magics are not the deity. Instead, he draws his power from nature, specifically the primal, predatorial power of animals. This leaves him when some ritualistic needs to maintain his powers; he is entirely carnivorous, and must eat only the flesh of creatures killed by him and his kin. He must personally engage in a hunt, unaided by his powers, at least once a week. And finally, his powers are drawn from predatorial animals, so in urban settings where feral animals are few and far between, his powers are significantly weaker. He can be effectively weakened by 'caging the beast.'

Supporting Characters:
Consorts: As Chieftain, he has first pick of the women. He has a taste for strong, independent, fierce women; the type who would sooner die for a chance at this title than submit to him should be lead the tribe astray. The idea that they will kill him if he gets weak is what makes them perfect mates, able to bear worthy children.
Ly'sa - Female Orcish Spellsword, who uses elemental (air) magic to aid in her use of a bow. Likes to electrify her arrowheads so they stun on impact, then use controlled winds to guide them to her targets. Ly'sa is Tyrant's wife, and first choice of a scout.

(Baring approval) Nyg'ril - Female Mystic, Necromancer 2 and Protection 2. Uses Protection due to the Angelskin Armor she wears, made when Tyrant killed and ripped the flesh from an angel who wished to stop the destiny Tyrant is meant to bring for his tribe. The Angelskin Armor does not give one the ability to use protection magic without study, but allows an evil person to 'fool' anything and everything that works based on alignment; the person can choose to be treated as 'good' for the purposes of any effect, including avoiding things that harm evil creatures, detection spells, and even alignment based requirements. She uses her power to heal the injuries of her tribe. While she is not weak, she is not a fighter as the others are; she instead earns her place by bolstering her allies and weakening their foes.

Lucas - Male Human Blackguard - Originally a spellsword who specialized in necromancy, he was a mercenary who fought Tyrant for some farm folk, figuring he could earn a reputation, some money, a score of loot from Tyrant, and whatever benefits may come. Though he failed to kill Tyrant, who honored his request for a 1x1 duel, because of Tyrant's ability to use transmutational magics to restore his lost strength anything he drained it, Tyrant saw incredible potential in his heart; Lucas was a fierce fighter, strong willed, vicious, and self interested. Tyrant taught Lucas the ways of his tribe, and the ways of predation. Though Lucas lacks Tyrant's connection to nature, he liked what he heard; Lucas follows Tyrant's teachings on the path of predation to a tee, and became a Blackguard with those teachings as the core of his faith. Using those he slays in battle as fodder, he serves as Tyrant's general. He is more than capable of handling himself, even in the company of orcs.

Describe using proper English grammar what you think you can bring to the RPG: The greatest problem for any and all good guys; an ally to the bad guys.

How many times do you intend on posting a DAY IN the RPG: Once every day or two for large, plot related posts, multiple times for conversations or fights

Do you know how to post pictures on the hype boards: Yes

Sample Post (Minimum Four decent-sized paragraphs containing dialogue):

"Come on you orcish son of a bitch! I know these woods are yours, but here I stand! I am calling you out! You and me. I want your heard."

A gutteral laughter came from the woods nearby. The voice was orcish, and even a bit masculine, but not enough for one of their males. "No need to shout. You are like a wee baby, making so much noise. We heard you coming a league away. Continue ahead. See what happens to the mighty when they challenge the throne."

Lucas was a bit shaken at the sudden start of the voice from the trees, but regained his nerves as she continued. Sword and shield unsheathed, he marched forward along the path in the woods. Occasionally, with a shaking of a branch, he could see the orcish woman jumping through the trees, before losing sight of her. After another forty minutes of being lead around like a blind mule, he came to a clearing in the woods. Across the clearing, only a hundred feet long, stood the belligerent leader of the orcs. 6'2", and only about two hundred pounds, it was hard to believe such a scrawny orc was responsible for so many successful raids against Roman settlements.

The orc bared its teeth, its muscles growing larger. Claws and teeth grew longer, and small amounts of hair sprouted in a fine coat as his appearance became feral. Then, already taller than Lucas, it grew to over nine feet tall, wielding a stone cleaver the size of a teenager. Lucas was excited, not deterred; he came into this knowing full well the crimes this orc was, and THIS orc looked much more like what he was hoping to fight. If he fought the squirt he was before, he would have had to embellish the fight to impress the local wenches.

Lucas began his charge across the clearing, but just after he was halfway the orc just disappeared. Lucas looked for depressions in the grass where an invisible foe might be standing. "Your instincts are weak." A crashing blunt force came to the back of his head knocking him to his feet. Lucas rolled landing on his back. He had hoped to not have to resort to such desperate measures so early, but it wasn't amateur hour; he could always change up the retelling later to make it sound like he lasted longer. He dropped his sword, and pointed his hand at the beast towering above him, understanding why he was called Tyrant. A blast of sickening energy siphoned his strength, tearing and atrophying his muscles. With a slamming crush, the massive stone sword in his hand fell to the ground, the beast being unable to bear its size.

Without missing a beat, Tyrant threw his hands out to the forest nearby. There was silence for a moment, a foreign sound in a forest, then a humming as streams of energy flew into him. As he drew energy from nature, a flock of birds took flight. Each one, one at a time, slowly glided back below the tree line, no longer having the strength to maintain flight. Unseen, a badger, who was digging into an ant's nest, started breathing heavily, and then collapsed in a sound sleep. With each animal drained, the muscles that just shrunk regrew.

Lucas, seeing that technique foiled, reached for his sword, ready to restart armed combat. Right as he grabbed the hilt, Tyrant slammed his foot down on his hand, splintering his wrist. Not willing to die like a dog, Lucas wheeled back, slamming his foot down with all the weight he could muster onto Tyrant's kneecap. With his support smashed, Tyrant fell... right on top of Lucas. Adjusting his weight as he fell, Tyrant drilled his elbow into Lucas's chest. Ribs cracked, Lucas was thrown full into a forceful rest.