Cers made his way through the Guild Hall with an imperial air, his heavy boots thudding out a soldier's rhythm. Chatter did not cease at his approach, but it did wither to a near hush. Though his Company did not know the truth, the Black Adders suspected that their leader often went to his sanctuary to consort with Demons and draw upon their wisdom and malice. So feared was he, even among his own, that few would gaze long upon him. His armor was jagged and black, nicked and battered with nearly two decades of use...and, truly, most of them had never seen the man without it. Even in the bright light of their hall did he seem to be an umbral steel shadow.

He paid the majority little mind, casting brief glances from within his ophidian helm at those he kept closest. Sylvare, the Elven assassin he had come to know first through conflict. Noxys, the True Mage he had taken as a trophy during a raid on the Arcana Demense...and "Knees", the Faithful of Eldra who had come to him willingly, seeking to remain by Noxys' side. Cers valued them...the closest thing he had known to true friends. Sylvare gave him a small smile and brief nod, turning back to the hooded figures that surrounded her without offering a further word. Even if he had smiled in return, the woman could not have known; encased as his face were in the visage of his nameright.

Instead, he made his way from the main chamber; leaving behind the quieted conversations, curious glances and slight smiles. A heavy door parted for him without so much as a touch, quietly swinging to a close as he passed its threshold. Shadows washed over him in waves, once the lock affixed its self. Cers stood still, for a moment, willing his energy into nearby Runes. They flared to life instantly, casting a blue, flickering light; emulating fire to their fullest extent.

This room was not so ornate as the Black Adder Company's hall, but held an incorporeal weight that would make the knees of lesser men shake. In truth, he distantly recalled, he, himself had shaken once the thing had appeared. That thing was what dominated the center of this 'sanctuary' a massive statue...a statue depicting a figure in tattered robes, wearing a mask of bone. At the Dead God's statue were a set of stairs, carved in the likeness of skinless serpents. He drank in the sight, more elated than the man who had entered this room five years ago. All around him, the runetorches flickered violently; a portion of their energy draining into the shadows that lingered heavily at the back of the room.

"My lord," he spoke calmly, plainly, his voice deep and rough, even as he observed the coalescence of living shadows, "I have heard your summons." Cers approached, his boots no longer pounding against the floor...here, it seemed, that all was muted...suspended, in some way. A clawed gauntlet touched against the forehead of his helm, and his other hand crossed across his midsection; an acknowledgement and salute, all together. He strode forward at a respectful pace, much as he would expect a king to expect of his subjects and lowered himself to one knee; just before the first skeletal step.

"Every child knows the tale, do they not? The tale of the Heroes."

His voice was a venomous mist, drifting down in a very much apparent plume of indigo and shadows; the azure torchlight shifted with his ragged rasp and a slight chill arced through the marrow of the man who now knelt before the once-slain God of Chaos and Death. Cers, the Black Adder himself, dared to lift his eyes, again, to gaze into the nebulous pocket of shadows that lingered above him. It traced tendrils down an immaculately crafted representation of Dekruvitomen...the Dead God, touching tenderly on its masked imitation.

"Yes, my lord," the Black Adder replied, lowering his eyes, not willing to risk testing his master's patience, "and there are those who remember witnessing the final battle between yourself and-"

A cold, grating chuckle made his words stillborn. He could hear the shadows slithering closer, undulating just beyond the limit of his periphery, wrapping themselves around the statue.

"It has been but the blink of an eye, Black Adder, yet so much has changed. I am not surprised that this world still bears the scars I willed upon it," the essence of Dekruvitomen seemed contemplative, if Cers could claim to know the thoughts of his vile patron, twisting around the base of the statue and winding its self up to envelop it, "Do the Heroes," that word, as ever, was whispered with a barely restrained malice, "know that they have failed? That despite my sundering, I have come to be once more?"

The Black Adder opened his mouth, slightly, but held his tongue.

"The Elves still hold my dear Mother's Heart...and her other pieces have come to be these fragile Deities. How disgusting. I would have you and yours reclaim the pieces of my mask, Cers...the corporeal pieces of my power hidden away or held by those repulsive mortals."

Cers allowed himself a smile...a feral smirk that left the distant taste of blood lingering in his mouth.

"As you wish, my lord. I will not fail-"

The shadows rushed forward all at once, writhing down the stairs and, with surprising force, lifted the Black Adder's eyes to the twisting umbrage that spoke to him. His heart skipped a beat; a sudden fear, colder than ice, invading his veins.

"I know you will not, dear Black Adder. You have cause to hate the Heroes...nearly so strong as my own," Dekruvitomen chuckled, a sound that rattled Cers' skull, "I will not permit you to fail. You will be my champion...and you will be the herald of my return."

There was something sinister in the words that Cers did not notice was already manifesting. Acidic, rancid indigo drifted in through the eyes and mouth of his serpent's shell; an arcane electricity coursing through the Black Adder as he stared into the darkness...as he felt it enter him. Pain wracked the Black Adder, as it never had before. Breath had left him, subverted by the words and blessing of his master. His scream was silent and his body convulsed...his vision overtaken by darkness.

Name: (this one is obvious!)
Race: (this one too!)
Title: (you can give yourself one, if you're super pretentious or something!)
Age: (like, how old you are and stuff?)
Appearance: (like, a picture is fine...or some words. idc. they're all beautiful to me! include a little run-down of your gear, here, please.)
Personality: (acting up to smack 'em up!)
Abilities: (like, what you're good at and stuff. if a mage of some sort, be it runewielder or true, include the general scope of your abilities and your throe or whisper in this area.)
History: (where ya from? where ya been? whatcha do? doesn't have to be super lengthy.)

Name: Elise "The Silver Glint" Ethra

Title: see above, but yours can totally go here!

Race: Beastkin {Cat}

Age: 26

Appearance: Snow white hair elegantly cascading over delicate features, Elise has always been pleasing to gaze upon. Though, her gaze, often, leaves others unsettled. Deepest azure peers from beneath those alabaster waves, bearing the slitted pupil and oblong eye-shape of her kind. Slender shoulders bear the weight of silver pauldrons, smooth and ever polished; bereft of any scratches or dents. Between the pauldrons, at her back, flows a grey, hooded cloak; clasped at the front, a white tabard covering modest breasts and a toned form. She is tall, among her kind, standing nearly at six feet tall; perhaps more if you included the rise of the feline ears perched atop her head...similarly porcelain in coloration to both her hair and skin.

Around her arms are wrapped grey silken gloves, though on her right arm she wears a light sleeve of plated armor. Her waist is wrapped in a skirt of chains, bound together by silver clasps; beneath which lies a pair of well-worn traveling pants, brown, burlap and loose, held in place by the same clasps that link her skirt. Elise's legs are clad in long boots with metal strips evenly spaced along them, beginning at the ankle and going upward to the cuff of the boot; which ends at her knee.

Personality: Elise is known to wear a sad smile, most of the time; the smallest upturning of her lips that does not quite belie the burden she carries behind her eyes. She is often polite, though can, from time to time, be aloof or brusque with those in her company (which, admittedly, she doesn't keep much of anymore). At times, she may came across as self-righteous and tends to be extremely stubborn when she sets her mind to something. However, Elise tends to attempt keep to herself and avoids speaking beyond what she feels she must. Ever determined, she has not stopped adventuring since the Heroes' victory over Dekruvitomen and has developed a habit of drifting from place to place; accepting contracts from the Keepers or simply assisting the locals with their problems as she is able.

It is said that she used to be quick to laugh and quick to anger, mercurial in all aspects of her life...leading some to believe that, somewhere along the way, the Silver Glint lost her luster.

Affiliation: Nine Heroes {Former}
Star-Crossed Company {Former}

Abilities: Runewielder, Genesis.

Elise has come to know well her Runes and utilize them to their fullest in combat. While most Genesis Runewielders tend to craft and create things from their Elemental Principle, Elise uses the Runes to augment herself (as well as her armor and rapier, from time to time) and increase her speed to nigh ludicrous levels; it is through this that she earned her title...along with her swordplay and flair for slaughter. Her Whisper is a simple word, over and over. "More" the Runes cry into her mind, bursting through and infiltrating her thoughts. More speed...more power...more blood.


History: It is unknown exactly when Elise's family left the Volanci heartlands and made their way into the small village of Oakheim. What is known, however, is that Elise was always seen with a blade in her hand; a blunted thing given to her by her father. An adventurer, himself, before a festering wound (inflicted by the foulest of Void Magic) took his left leg; 'reduced' (as he would say) to a simple blacksmith, though not one of incredible skill, he sought to shape his daughter into a true warrior...a valiant protector of the innocent, as he had been in his hayday. Little did the Titan of Meita know that he would succeed in a grand fashion. Without his guidance, it is impossible to tell what would have become of young Elise...without his knowledge of Runewielding and swordplay. With Theron (Elise's older brother) in Drasil, pursuing a life of mercenary work in the Star-Crossed Company and Emirra (Elise's mother) long deceased, Veiss (the Titan) doted on his daughter and pushed her every day to better herself...but also to better the lives of those around her.

At the age of thirteen she left home, at the behest of her father but spurred by her own eagerness to venture into the Drasilian heart...to Essia its self to find her brother and join the Star-Crossed Company. She rarely speaks of the few months it took her to traverse the Monster-ravaged countryside. It was only then that Elise began to understand why she had first picked up a blade. The Sundering was something rarely talked about in secluded Oakheim, where the local Mages took to creating wards against the Monsters and folk continued about their lives normally...albeit nervously. It is uncertain when she first saw a mortal die...or when she first killed a mortal, herself. Certain is the fact that she joined the Star-Crossed Company nearly one year after leaving home; though Theron had apparently already abandoned their group to head into the Dreamlands, seeking some Elven assassin that had made an attempt on his life mere days before her arrival.

In the employ of the Star-Crossed Company, Elise honed her skills against Monster and mortal alike...rising quickly in both Rank and prestige. This bit of renown did not earn her the title Silver Glint, but it did earn her the fight that would inevitably lead to the title being placed upon her head. Tempa, "the Firebrand", a fiery warrior of considerable skill and possessed of a deep passion for combat arrived at the Star-Crossed Company's Guild Hall as a herald of the Black Adder Guild; issuing a formal challenge from Cers. Tempa was to face a champion of Malik's (the leader of the Star-Crossed Company) choosing. Malik, impressed with Elise and eager to see Cers and the Black Adders bested on the field sent her forth without a second thought; accepting the duel and setting into motion events that would inevitably lead to the formation of the Nine Heroes.

As with all formal challenges, the duel was to take place in the Keeper's Amphitheater. With both Guilds gathered, the terms were set by Cers and Malik. There would be no duel to the death, but the losing faction would disband their Company and gain the others' champion. No hesitation met these terms, Malik and Cers both slavering at the idea of their rival's pride crushed before the gathered masses. The Keepers brought their Magic forth, ensuring that neither would suffer permanent injury; and the battle was joined.

Sparks and embers danced in the light of a setting sun, silver and flame meeting one another for the first time. Somewhere, in their duel...a friendship...a kinship formed. Their smiles were true and there was an unbridled joy in Elise's heart that drowned out the Whisper echoing through her mind. The woman before her was perhaps two years her elder and better suited to the warrior's life than she; a blur of orange and red that sought to slip through her silver slashing shield. Each blow was met with another, for what felt like hours; until the full moon blossomed overhead. Until that night, Elise had never faced her Shadow Self...and, perhaps, she would have succumbed to it...if not for Tempa's intervention.

Elise would not recall the spectacle, nor the surge of Monsters that followed in the wake. When she awoke, in Oakheim, sprawled in a familiar bed, The Silver Glint was the name now etched into her heart. Tempa informed her of this, after Veiss had assailed her with his affection and, to the disdain of the Titan and The Silver Glint, that the Star-Crossed Company had been declared disbanded. Balking at the notion of joining the Black Adders, Elise prepared herself for harsh life under Cers and his ilk. With a throaty laugh, Tempa dismissed the idea; explaining that she had no intention of letting someone like Elise join the Black Adder Guild...and that she had lost interest in the idea, herself, seeing riper opportunities in having The Silver Glint in her debt.

Yet, despite being nestled back in her home, in the company of her father and several familiar faces...Elise's heart was heavily restless. She had failed the Star-Crossed Company and, by way of her failure, caused one of the oldest Guilds in Drasil to be broken; its members cast to the wind, and simultaneously, though inadvertantly, in a way, spited the Black Adder himself (a man of great repute, for his cunning, combat prowess and lack of creativity). It did not sit well with her that she had been spirited from the Amphitheater, but, in truth, she felt a kinship with Tempa and much preferred her company over that of what she expected from the Black Adder.

The world outside of the small hamlet Elise had become so accustomed to was more warped during the time she had been rendered unconscious. Darkness now touched the land...almost palpable as it lingered and permeated all within Drasil. Mortals found themselves prone to indulging their dark thoughts and Shadow Selves became increasingly common. With the rise of the Shadow Selves came an abundance of murder and strife that the Divided Kingdoms had not witnessed in several centuries. Elise observed the change with horror, seemingly noticing it for the first time...and found hatred growing in her heart; a maliciousness born of righteous indignation, and swore upon that seeping stain on her soul that she would find a way to end it.

Time passed slowly, thoughts of the suffering world eating away at her. She was a swordswoman grown from strife, but the needling feelings that swirled within her demanded action; fear and determination rallied against what she feared to be an insurmountable foe. She knew that Eldra's Shadow had Sundered the Goddess of Compassion and Order nearly a decade ago; and plied his vile whims against the land she had once favored most. Yet, when had he ever shown himself to the mortals; aside from his grand, terrible invasion into the mortal world? Where was the Masked God hiding himself? What reason did he have to shy from the realm he, now, by all rights, claimed sovereignty over? Questions that gave her hope. Confiding in Tempa, she found solace...confiding in Veiss, she found an answer.

Her father was the first to utter the name in her presence. Though, she would later come to find that Kalayron had long been a figure of near mythical reputation amongst the Faithful of Eldra. Said to be her Avatar, the only one capable of truly drawing upon the power of the Goddess, he resided in a monastery hidden from the cruelty of the world; offering refuge to those who would still follow the Light that Eldra left behind. "The Protector", he was named...and it was he who would surely know how to combat the Dread Shadow. So it was that Elise had come to know of Asmosa, the original resting place of the Heartshard (before it was given to the Elves for protection, in years past, by the monks; fearing that Dekruvitomen would seek its destruction), and a holy place to the Faithful. Far to the north, in the scorched and shimmering expanses, where Monsters roamed in vast hordes and the land its self seemed to bend to the will of Darkness. Elise resolved, then, to seek out The Protector and his counsel. The Firebrand agreed eagerly to accompany her, lusting for an opportunity to pit herself against the most fearsome foe that the world had to offer.

When the two set forth from Oakheim, it is uncertain...some would say weeks, others mere days after Elise's vow to venture to Asmosa. And for some time it would go unnoticed that a Standing Stone (a relic left by the Beastkin, a simple stone...standing. s'pretty big.) in a secluded grove now bore two simple symbols etched into its smooth surface; an oath made in secret, a pact binding together two who would bind together nine. This Standing Stone would become the Stone of Nine, where each of the Nine Heroes engraved their symbol and swore their oath; once they had all been gathered. Tempa and Elise walked and fought, side by side, battling Monsters that would assail small hamlets...or deal with particularly fierce bandits on the roadside, help farmers replace their wagon wheels and all sorts of heroic (if sometimes seemingly excessively diminutive) minutiae, along their way to the vaunted monastery...to the Avatar of Eldra...to a solution.

Kalayron proved to be reserved about the two, glimpsing Tempa's sins and seeing the Darkness lingering within Elise. With some reluctance, and, according to some stories, after days of pleading from The Silver Glint, The Protector left his sanctuary with the two; erecting a barrier after his exit, allowing only those with benign intentions into the temple. He would draw the next of the Nine closer, proposing a plan to seek out a powerful True Mage taking refuge somewhere within Drasil. So, with nothing but a small lead, an increasingly close friend, and one of the most powerful priests in Kallore at her back, Elise set out for Essia.

The journey proved far less dangerous than expected, given their combined might; and within scant days they arrived at Essia's gates...only to find them aflame. While Essia had held firm against Monsters, the ire of Seralle was something far more than the Essian Guard could easily handle. Cast in the shadow of roaring, towering flames, slender lips let a smile pass over them; Seralle Of The Shadowed Countenance turned to the others and offered a humble bow, saying that she had been expecting to run into them. Pressed about the mounting flames at her back, Sera (as she preferred the diminutive, obviously...bc otherwise it's a mouthful) simply smiled and waved it away; stating that it was nothing more than a misunderstanding and that no one (aside from that poor gate) had or would be harmed by the flames. With a wave of her hand, she dispersed the blaze and laughed; offering her services to the group, for a nominal fee (though she never actually collected on her stated price...and what she actually stated is subject to speculation).

So smoothly had things progressed, that the inevitable snag (the first of many, actually) would finally be encountered.

No one knows what lies beneath the mirrored mask...even to this day, nor why he drew his blade against the gathered four. Yet he did, but not before the first of the Heroes had walked into a trap. Goldbrook was a village founded on the principle of mercantile; a bustling city in the midst of a river, suspended on wood and bound with ropes. It was here that a rumor had lead them, seeking an item (specifically a pendant) that was said to contain a Shard of Eldra that had been repurposed into a weapon...something capable of weakening Dekruvitomen, should he ever come into its radiance. They found the city silent, but not abandoned...countless bodies littered the streets; bloodless, but all prone, with no sign of a struggle. Elise and Tempa, helpless against whatever malady had been placed upon these people, stood watch as Kalayron and Sera began attempting all within their considerable power to awaken the slumbering (yes, really, they were all k.o'd).

He appeared from a distortion in the air, rays of the midday Sun glancing violently from his form in streaks of distorted light. His armor was strangely smooth, pulling in reflections from all around, though riddled with black fissures that distorted the images. His frame slight and sickly, to the estimation of those who beheld him. Though silent, the drawing of his blade (which, strangely, was not present when he appeared, but seemed to be pulled from the same distortion that still licked at the world around him) was challenge enough for those gathered. The Knight of Cracked Mirrors faced the four...and bested them. With a slight scoff, tossing his blade back into the ether, he finally spoke...in a voice that seemed almost alien, so absent was emotion or inflection in its tones. The Knight told them that there had never existed such a weapon...and that there never would. That the God of Chaos and Death would have to be slain by more difficult means. That they would have to Sunder him, as he had the Goddess. Before Elise could press the question of 'how?!', the Knight of Cracked Mirrors absconded; leaving no trace of his presence behind. With his vanishing, the people of Goldbrook awoke...with near instantaneity. Hailed as heroes, despite their thorough trouncing, they did not linger long in the city.