@TheWizardLizard
Added a description of his home base as well as a buff to his weapon if that's fine.
Added a description of his home base as well as a buff to his weapon if that's fine.
[OOC] The Harbingers (High Casual Fantasy Villain RP) Page 2
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TheWendil The Wendil-Sama™ / ಠ_ಠ
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0-24 hrs ago
KoL Knight of Lorelei
Member
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26 days ago
@TheWizardLizard
I'll delay my character for a few hours, I'm going to sleep now, but I have most of it done. See ya later.
I'll delay my character for a few hours, I'm going to sleep now, but I have most of it done. See ya later.
I have an elderly man with an enslaved wizard in mind and everyone else is taking the dive into non-human creatures of nightmares... Might want more wizard slaves...
Rune_Alchemist Absolute Depravity
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0-24 hrs ago
Currently making a wizard that may or may not summon Eldritch monstrosities and may or may not be one themselves.
With a minor in destroying things with magic.
With a minor in destroying things with magic.
Zendrelax I am Spartacus!
Member
Seen
6 yrs ago
that makes nine, which is like a cool, symbolic evil number.
Thrice to thine, and thrice to mine, and thrice again to make up nine.
Methinks it unfortunate that the story lacks an evil wizard. Methinks I shall endeavor to solve this problem.
MauveMarauder
Member
Seen
8 yrs ago
And here's my first shot.
Eira White - Thermal Thief
Magical Mass Murderer
Eira White - Thermal Thief
Magical Mass Murderer
Eira is a short girl, only being 150 cm. She has long white hair, with a ponytail reaching all the way down to her navel. She also has pale blue eyes and extremely pale white skin. Her eyes and skin tone become less pale the more heat she absorbs, to the point of being navy blue and hot pink when she reaches the max.
She likes to wear blue dresses, especially powder blue. As for shoes, she prefers them black.
She likes to wear blue dresses, especially powder blue. As for shoes, she prefers them black.
Eira is a mage who specializes in ice spells. She can create objects from ice, freeze things, standard cryokinetic stuff.
What makes her dangerous are two techniques. The first one ois a technique known as "Flash Freeze". This technique at first appears simple, she simply removes all the heat from an object or area in a matter of seconds. The heat that she removes is given to her.
The second technique is "Flash Fry", in which she instantly releases all the heat she stored up in the form of firball. The more heat she absorbed from Flash Freeze, the more powerful the Flash Fry attack is, both in raw power and in range.
On the non-magical side of things, she's a good actor and has an excellent memory.
What makes her dangerous are two techniques. The first one ois a technique known as "Flash Freeze". This technique at first appears simple, she simply removes all the heat from an object or area in a matter of seconds. The heat that she removes is given to her.
The second technique is "Flash Fry", in which she instantly releases all the heat she stored up in the form of firball. The more heat she absorbed from Flash Freeze, the more powerful the Flash Fry attack is, both in raw power and in range.
On the non-magical side of things, she's a good actor and has an excellent memory.
Eira has nothing but the clothes on her back, her personality, her magic, and a loving and supporting family. Oh, and money. Lots of money.
Eira keeps her mass murdering hidden. There are people who know Eira, there are people who have heard of the mass murderer. But none are aware that they are the same person.
The story of Eira, or at least the one she tells, is a rather plain one. A woman from a somewhat far-off city who enrolled in an academy in Melaron to learn magic. She started training a bit later than most people, but she says that it took her time to raise the money for lessons.
The story of thr mass murderer is rather unknown, all we can learn about them comes from the victims of their attacks.
People from the quiet town of Mystral was always on edge. Every week for two years, at least three people would turn up dead, showing little to no signs of struggle. Evaluating the victims showed no pattern, other than the fact that a slight majority of them were adult men and all of them showed signs of gangrene.
The authorities were intent on starting a manhunt for the murderer. Soon after the manhunt began, the murders stopped, but not before the town square was wiped out in a large fireball.
Now, gangrenous corpses are beginning to pop up around the outskirts of Melaron.
The story of Eira, or at least the one she tells, is a rather plain one. A woman from a somewhat far-off city who enrolled in an academy in Melaron to learn magic. She started training a bit later than most people, but she says that it took her time to raise the money for lessons.
The story of thr mass murderer is rather unknown, all we can learn about them comes from the victims of their attacks.
People from the quiet town of Mystral was always on edge. Every week for two years, at least three people would turn up dead, showing little to no signs of struggle. Evaluating the victims showed no pattern, other than the fact that a slight majority of them were adult men and all of them showed signs of gangrene.
The authorities were intent on starting a manhunt for the murderer. Soon after the manhunt began, the murders stopped, but not before the town square was wiped out in a large fireball.
Now, gangrenous corpses are beginning to pop up around the outskirts of Melaron.
Eira's apparent personality is that of a simpleminded girl, though a rather well meaning one. She's flirtatious, doesn't anger easily, and is into a lot of stereotypical teenage girl stuff.
This personality is merely a façade she uses to try to blend in. When it's not needed, like when she's alone or with a victim, her true personality starts to emerge.
More than anything, Eira likes to have fun. Getting under people's skin is fun, reading is kinda fun, but murder is the most fun. When her fun is threatened, she moves to a place to have fun there instead (though not before punishing them with a Flash Fry)
To prevent her from being caught, she learned to always keeps careful track of her surroundings, memorizing everything she can, and plotting what to do if things go wrong.
She has sworn to be the one ice user to never make a pun related to cold. So far, she's doing well.
This personality is merely a façade she uses to try to blend in. When it's not needed, like when she's alone or with a victim, her true personality starts to emerge.
More than anything, Eira likes to have fun. Getting under people's skin is fun, reading is kinda fun, but murder is the most fun. When her fun is threatened, she moves to a place to have fun there instead (though not before punishing them with a Flash Fry)
To prevent her from being caught, she learned to always keeps careful track of her surroundings, memorizing everything she can, and plotting what to do if things go wrong.
She has sworn to be the one ice user to never make a pun related to cold. So far, she's doing well.
"Oh, how are you doing, beautiful?" Eira said, blushing and twirling her hair. She was at her usual hunting spot, some bar that seems to have no problem serving people her age. Great place to meet victims. Just convince them to come home with you, turn them to ice, done. Usually easy pickings.
The boy she was hitting on simply grunted at her.
Dammit, it's been four days since her last kill. Why isn't her usual plan working? She turned away from the boy.
"I know who you are"
Eira tensed up. Who said that? Who was it for? Was she found?
"I know who you are"
It was clear who was saying it. The boy who wouldn't fall for it. Yes, definitely caught. But how can she escape?
She walked out the door, pretending not to have heard. The boy got up, intent on following her. Good, he'll be easy to lure.
She turned around down an alley, pretending not to have noticed the boy following her. She heard footsteps, sounded like he was picking up the pace. She turned down another alley. She started to hear a crackle...
A bolt of electricity hit her on the side. Electricity started coursing through her body. Muscles locked up, hair messy, arms spasmed, vision got blurry.
But, on the other hand, she had reassurance. She was alone now, no witnesses to get in the way. If there were witnesses, they would have responded to the man trying to electrocute an "innocent" girl.
So it was just two people trying to kill each other. A standard affair, really.
"I know who you are," the boy said again.
"What..what do you mean?" she said with fake confusion and fear.
"You killed him, my brother"
I've killed a lot of brothers, narrow it down.
"Huh?"
He grunted again. "You don't remember, Chip Allistar? Died of frostbite in the mid-summer?"
Oh, that guy. He seemed nice. Kinda a coward.
"Everyone knew it wasn't a natural death," he said, trailing off. They always seem to monologue. "I've been searching for his murderer, and it looks like I just happened to run into them"
"What...what?"
"Cut the crap, I know it was you." He took a large wiff "I can still smell his fear on you."
She started regaining her body's control now. No need for stalling.
"...what kind of weird ability is that?" she said, dropping all fear from her voice.
This time, he decided to ask "What?"
"I mean, how does one smell fear? Is it a weird ability of your species, or is it something more mundane?"
"I mean did he pee himself in fear or something, and that's what you smell? I thought I washed it out. Wait, does that mean you know what your brothers urine smells like? Are you that close, or does he just have a weird diet?"
The boy could only blink dumbfoundedly as the person he believed he had at his mercy continued to ramble. He didn't seem to notice his skin purpling up.
"...I mean, I love my family and all. But I don't think I can recognize their body fluids. That's just nasty."
"But anyway," she pointed to the boys gangrenous limbs, "Thanks for your help. Man, I can't believe you didn't tell anyone. Idiot"
She waved goodbye to the corpse.
The boy she was hitting on simply grunted at her.
Dammit, it's been four days since her last kill. Why isn't her usual plan working? She turned away from the boy.
"I know who you are"
Eira tensed up. Who said that? Who was it for? Was she found?
"I know who you are"
It was clear who was saying it. The boy who wouldn't fall for it. Yes, definitely caught. But how can she escape?
She walked out the door, pretending not to have heard. The boy got up, intent on following her. Good, he'll be easy to lure.
She turned around down an alley, pretending not to have noticed the boy following her. She heard footsteps, sounded like he was picking up the pace. She turned down another alley. She started to hear a crackle...
A bolt of electricity hit her on the side. Electricity started coursing through her body. Muscles locked up, hair messy, arms spasmed, vision got blurry.
But, on the other hand, she had reassurance. She was alone now, no witnesses to get in the way. If there were witnesses, they would have responded to the man trying to electrocute an "innocent" girl.
So it was just two people trying to kill each other. A standard affair, really.
"I know who you are," the boy said again.
"What..what do you mean?" she said with fake confusion and fear.
"You killed him, my brother"
I've killed a lot of brothers, narrow it down.
"Huh?"
He grunted again. "You don't remember, Chip Allistar? Died of frostbite in the mid-summer?"
Oh, that guy. He seemed nice. Kinda a coward.
"Everyone knew it wasn't a natural death," he said, trailing off. They always seem to monologue. "I've been searching for his murderer, and it looks like I just happened to run into them"
"What...what?"
"Cut the crap, I know it was you." He took a large wiff "I can still smell his fear on you."
She started regaining her body's control now. No need for stalling.
"...what kind of weird ability is that?" she said, dropping all fear from her voice.
This time, he decided to ask "What?"
"I mean, how does one smell fear? Is it a weird ability of your species, or is it something more mundane?"
"I mean did he pee himself in fear or something, and that's what you smell? I thought I washed it out. Wait, does that mean you know what your brothers urine smells like? Are you that close, or does he just have a weird diet?"
The boy could only blink dumbfoundedly as the person he believed he had at his mercy continued to ramble. He didn't seem to notice his skin purpling up.
"...I mean, I love my family and all. But I don't think I can recognize their body fluids. That's just nasty."
"But anyway," she pointed to the boys gangrenous limbs, "Thanks for your help. Man, I can't believe you didn't tell anyone. Idiot"
She waved goodbye to the corpse.
The Grey Dust The / Grey
Member
Seen
9 hrs ago
I had created this character for another roleplay (Looking at you there @Zendrelax).
I thought he might fit in a group of ne'er-do-wells.
I hope his is as vile and despicable as ever.
Titles
Descriptions
Appearance
He appears to those who are unaware of the true nature of the beast as a living idol. A perfect human being as they believe it, often seeing him as a man befitting the role of a chief of the desert tribes. The aspects they value most exemplified within him, a paragon of their own hopes and dreams to what they desire to be. For it is not his power to change himself, no rather it is his power to change how others see him. Dressed in finery of gold with a body of a worthy of worship, regally moving with the power and awe, the splendor of a true god-king to be envied and admired.
But to those who wish to see him for what desire truly is, for those who desire truth, they shall see him for what he is. A smiling devil with twisting horns which flow like hair around him. Sharp teeth and fangs, a gaunt face like a skull and hollow eyes with which he eats your very being. Though dressed in his robes and finery, he is nothing more but a skeletal terror as his ribs are visible against his open robe. That is the true nature of desire. The insatiable hunger that consumes you, and though you may eat, there is nothing to show for it. Life becomes meaningless, and you are nothing more than a walking corpse: Empty.
Personality
Powers and Possessions
A legendary metropolis which sits brilliantly in the desert like a radiant gem to scatter the sunlight for miles. It is a city built by the Jaria Clan, a desert people who serve and view Zhystkrexas as their God-King. Zhystkrexas himself rarely manifests his presence in the public eye, and thus the city itself is ran by its elite citizens, governing itself with its false-utopia to mask the corruption which has taken the very city. Every sort of pleasure and vice can be found within the polished stone walls, but the city itself has loose regulations, and developed magical defenses which essentially maintain a semblance of order. The entire city is self-sustaining, and requires no outside support, yet invites visitors from afar to experience what it has to offer. Most travelers stay however and become permanent additions to the city. Either willingly or worse. I'Zhystana also holds two secrets: the two sources of Zhystkrexas' powers.
The Myth
These are some of the tales you will hear from the other voices of I'zhystana, but I see you seek more than a short recollection. You want the truth, and I can offer you more insight into our Lord. All that this old storyteller asks in return is one favour for the knowledge offered in my story. Promise me this oh Hero, and I shall tell your tale with the rest of my old life so that they will know the truth of your victory Efendi. And of course, if it is not so much to ask, perhaps you can buy the rounds of drink to keep our lips moist as I speak and you listen hmm? Ah, our tale begins not in the distant past, but only a few miles in that direction from this humble watering hole for vagrant thieves, vagabonds and scoundrels, for it is there in that path lies the city of I'zhystana.
I'zhystana. Behold the jewel of the desert, the most splendorous city anywhere. While some say the City-State-Kingdom of Melaron is greater, let me assure you Efendi, once you have spent a single night in I'zhystana, no place in the world in this life shall be as glorious. For how can it be that for hundreds of miles of sand and more sand, that such a thriving metropolis can exist? The answer is quite simple Efendi, it is called I'zhystana for a reason.
For beyond her walls of endless pleasures beyond the imagination lies her secret. The bewildered travelers and visitors may find their hearts torn between the exotic brothels, the grand arenas, or indulgent spas. The sages can find refuge in their towering libraries and while the nobility chatter in their high-rising parlors. Vast world-class bazars for those hearts set on riches or dining upon the flavour of this world all in one night, lush gardens holding viewing galas for those who amuse themselves in the arts. Some may call it paradise, but for whose who consider it a den of debauchery should consider the great holy temples to their God-King. The worship of one being, the Lord of the Jaria.
It was he who gave life to this place, where once only sand and sun existed, now thrives life. For long ago, upon a blessed moon, did he come to them. They who had once which once roamed nomadically through the deserts, enduring the harsh lands to scavenge for their sustenance, as all who lived in the desert once did in the old days. Dozens of clans roamed the endless desert, pushed to survive this way as the other kingdoms encroached upon their lands more and more. And since no Kingdom lay claim to the barren desert, it was natural that it became a sanctum for those who had nothing left to lose but clung to the hope of life however meager. It was here in the land of nothing, in the hour of desperation, in the face of death, that the last chief of the Jaria clan signed his tribe into the service of a handsome stranger who appeared in his tent.
What happened that night no one truly knows, there are stories that claim the chief consummated the agreement, some who say that the chief was forced into signing, and other yet say there was no such stranger and the chief himself cried out to the desert for a miracle. Whatever happened that forgotten night, it was said that very morning the sunlight revealed the waters had sprung from beneath the sand. They say he was a divine being, heretics claim he was a demon that crawled out from the desert sands, but are they not one in the same? Others say he is no god, but merely a powerful sorcerer with a penchant for business, but I say who else can create all this from nothing but a god?
There was the gift provided, and now the Jaria clan alone may lay claim to abundance through their ancient dealings with their new Lord. In return for a single oasis, such that they may survive the desert, they had committed their entire surviving lineage to the God-King. Was it a fair trade? I would say any man who would help you cheat death itself was a man of great benevolence. He came to them with an offer of life, but they would in turn serve him. Brokers of his dealings, the middle man to spread his influence across the land, the example of what he could grant: a life of luxury in the barrens of the sunlit wasteland.
It is this life that some say is wrong, but to a people who lived on the edge and had nothing, was it so wrong Efendi? Hedonistic epicureans, the members of the infamous Jaria clan have an indescribable amount of wealth, knowledge and power throughout the lands. So much accumulated over the years by using their oasis as their capital asset, offering quenching water to the other wandering bedouins of the desert. A small price to pay for water was cheaper than blood. It was indeed a fine water supply, with cool, clean, and crisp water, waters which made everything seem better, food eaten with it was far more delicious. Sand became fertile to bear crops and crops water with it produced in overabundance. Wounds washed with it healed faster, skin more supple, and bodies more fragrant as libidos raised. It was indeed the miraculous water, the Oasis of Jaria. And yet they who drank it would find the same water no longer capable of sating their thirst. Food without it became bland, and all others became putrid without it, wounds festered and skin aged, clothing chaffed and crops died. They became locked in a dream, a dream which turned to a nightmare when the water ran dry.
So the addiction began, and they who partook in the Oasis became enslaved to it, enslaved to the deals of the Jaria who smiled as their wealth bounded upwards with every transaction. It was not merely water which their patron had given them, but far more, for from the desires of others they had their own filled. Power, fame, wealth, everything came in overabundance to the Jaria clan by the sacred oasis. The pool which to this day remains protected by the clan as they have built their empire around the holy waters. No longer have they need to use its miraculous abilities, but blessing of stranger is to be forever revered.
And there he sits upon his gold throne within his marble palace. Clad in gold rules the God-king Zhystkrexas. Praise be to you, oh Great Lord of the Jaria!
There, I have told you all that I know of our story Efendi, now I hope you will not have forgotten our agreement, there is a always a price in the city of I'zhystana, you must find a way to release me from my deal with my Lord...
A Story
Allow me to take a moment's rest in recounting my tale. Forgive this old storyteller's lips for being parched, but a brief respite to catch my wind and drink. Ah that reminds me of another tale of which I could tell regarding drinking, but that is not the story you asked for now is it? You travel to I'Zhystana seeking audience with my Lord? Who is this Kil-threx of whom you serve? Ah nevermind, perhaps you would have asked for another tale if you had the time. Now, where was I?
...And there Our warrior stood, bathed in the blood of the guards as he threw their lifeless bodies before the God-King's court. The crimson ebbs of battle mixed in with his panting breath and running sweat. The gallant Knight-Paladin had sought to slay the monster which had taken many of his order. Felling the eight Jaria guards within the throne room had taken a great deal of effort, let alone the dozens he had to vanquish to get this far. But it mattered, not for now the demon before him would die. It was over, he declared, through all this he, he was finally going to kill that thing that sat upon the golden throne. The moment he had been waiting for, to thrust his blade into the wretched heart of all sin and kill the beast at last.
But ah the God-King Zhystkrexas merely smiled, and beckoned the knight closer. And with the courage of a lionheart, the Knight charged his sword aimed at the Lord of the Jaria's chest. It was then that the good knight found his arm held, a force clutching at his wrist and a powerful hand gripping tight to prevent his blade from sinking into the boney flesh of the great beast. There in those precious moments he would wrestle for control over his own blade against the God-king, but found himself in a deadlock. And how he wanted to pierce its dark heart and more than anything at this moment, kill it.
But the God-King knew his desires, as it knows all desires and the evils which lay dormant in the hearts of men. So the Devouring One asked him the question, that if he would so easily trade his life away to kill it. And our knight in the heat of the battle of wills screamed yes as he felt the grip of the fiend loosen. Blade penetrated the God-king's chest and skewered its body to the very throne it had not arose from. Gazing at the lifeless body of the demon, our knight was victorious at last. Or was he?
For it was an hollow victory, just as he was a hollow man. His hand dropped his sword of its own vocation, moving to hold his face of its own accord. There in horror he realized what had happened, and his own hand betrayed him. A horrific scream and gruesome tearing, the terrified slayer began to rip off his own face. And there beneath his visage was seen... the Face of Zhystkrexas, Lord of the Jaria.
It is a tragic tale, but I have kept my promise to an old friend.
Many thanks to you for the drink Efendi.
I thought he might fit in a group of ne'er-do-wells.
I hope his is as vile and despicable as ever.
Zhystkrexas, Lord of the Jaria
Titles
The Corruptor
He Who Hungers
Desert Demon of Desire
The Dark Dream of the Devouring King of Lost Paradise
He Who Hungers
Desert Demon of Desire
The Dark Dream of the Devouring King of Lost Paradise
Descriptions
Three-Word-Description
Insatiable Hunger Incarnate.
Long Description
What is it you desire most? Your deepest wishes, pulled from your wildest dream, harvested from your innermost secrets. The innocent fantasies you play with in the back of your mind, in the pit of your heart, the very nature of your soul. That which gnaws at you, your unsated want, a need restrained by reasoning, modesty, virtue. Like a caged beast, you drool hungrily at your temptations, but barely lick your lips when given but a taste of it when in a drought and famine. Now culminate all those years of unrequited starving. That is Zhystkrexas.
Insatiable Hunger Incarnate.
Long Description
What is it you desire most? Your deepest wishes, pulled from your wildest dream, harvested from your innermost secrets. The innocent fantasies you play with in the back of your mind, in the pit of your heart, the very nature of your soul. That which gnaws at you, your unsated want, a need restrained by reasoning, modesty, virtue. Like a caged beast, you drool hungrily at your temptations, but barely lick your lips when given but a taste of it when in a drought and famine. Now culminate all those years of unrequited starving. That is Zhystkrexas.
Appearance
He appears to those who are unaware of the true nature of the beast as a living idol. A perfect human being as they believe it, often seeing him as a man befitting the role of a chief of the desert tribes. The aspects they value most exemplified within him, a paragon of their own hopes and dreams to what they desire to be. For it is not his power to change himself, no rather it is his power to change how others see him. Dressed in finery of gold with a body of a worthy of worship, regally moving with the power and awe, the splendor of a true god-king to be envied and admired.
But to those who wish to see him for what desire truly is, for those who desire truth, they shall see him for what he is. A smiling devil with twisting horns which flow like hair around him. Sharp teeth and fangs, a gaunt face like a skull and hollow eyes with which he eats your very being. Though dressed in his robes and finery, he is nothing more but a skeletal terror as his ribs are visible against his open robe. That is the true nature of desire. The insatiable hunger that consumes you, and though you may eat, there is nothing to show for it. Life becomes meaningless, and you are nothing more than a walking corpse: Empty.
Personality
Zhystkrexas, the corrupting influence of it all, that which dwells with the deepest reaches of the mind. Patient, devious, and cunning, an immortal who uses immortality best of all to sow the seeds of his grand design for the harvest. How many seasons shall he wait until his bounty becomes full and rich? But starve yourself completely waiting for the harvest to come? Why not feast on the spoils of another? Oh yes reap what is yours, but also devour the yields of others. let them savour their small victories, their piecemeal battles, let them dine upon their riches and let their praises be pleasing to their ears. Let all their plans align and designs unfold to their whim, but in the end it matters not. For when the crops are ready to be harvested, the locusts shall come to eat it all. And so this is why perhaps of all the evils in the world, Zhystkrexas is most despised, for he leeches off the work of others, and dares to manipulate even his peers as he would mortals.
Such is he who hungers. A façade of benevolence over a pit of pure malice, a voice so tempting, so pleasing to hear from a true cosmopolite, and yet beneath the veil a ravenous fiend. It is his hand that feeds, and also he that bites the hands that feed, and those that he fattens to feast upon. Nothing can sate him for he is hunger, and he shall lead you to consume yourself before he consumes you, both physically and spiritually as he devours your flesh and captures your soul. And once he has led you down the path, he shall take deepest pleasure in devouring your envious eyes, your lustful heart, your prideful tongue, your wrathful limbs, your greedy mind, your gluttonous gut, and your weary head.
And why does Zhystkrexas do this? For it is his nature. He hungers. He is hunger. Though his kingdom is plenty, he is the starving lord who eyes upon the kingdoms of others. In time, he shall consume them, and then when there is nothing left to be consumed, he shall be forced to consume himself.
Such is he who hungers. A façade of benevolence over a pit of pure malice, a voice so tempting, so pleasing to hear from a true cosmopolite, and yet beneath the veil a ravenous fiend. It is his hand that feeds, and also he that bites the hands that feed, and those that he fattens to feast upon. Nothing can sate him for he is hunger, and he shall lead you to consume yourself before he consumes you, both physically and spiritually as he devours your flesh and captures your soul. And once he has led you down the path, he shall take deepest pleasure in devouring your envious eyes, your lustful heart, your prideful tongue, your wrathful limbs, your greedy mind, your gluttonous gut, and your weary head.
And why does Zhystkrexas do this? For it is his nature. He hungers. He is hunger. Though his kingdom is plenty, he is the starving lord who eyes upon the kingdoms of others. In time, he shall consume them, and then when there is nothing left to be consumed, he shall be forced to consume himself.
Powers and Possessions
The Devouring King exemplifies not a strong physical force nor magical one amongst his peers, but do not mistake this for weakness for his powers lie elsewhere. While he is merely slightly stronger than the average paragon mortal, and commands arcana within reach of the most learned of mortal magi, His unique power lies in his ability to bring out the worse in things. His presence is toxic, changing the very essence of beings and non-beings. It is his hand which cultivates the seed of desire, the primal shard preexisting, tending it to become an overgrowth that bursts through the nature of a thing. His work is to accelerate the inner hunger, the rest comes naturally as torment ends with feeding and overfeeding. Yet satiation never happens, and so indulgence becomes wickedness, carnal desires feasting upon morality, and moral desires feasting upon carnal needs. No one is safe from his abilities, to woo and tease out the hopes and dreams of a person, then taint them into a twisted reality. Where the pleasure may never end, but all meaning to it is lost.
While it is with this psychic force that the Dark Dream eats away at the will. Appearing as he would to mortals in a form they find desirable by dulling their beliefs in anything but to conceal the truth of his horror. But this illusionary self-delusion is merely a front for the true abilities he possess in the form of his magical contracts that taint reality with unyielding fantasy. It is his contracts which create kings out of men who lust for power, and scholars out of men who long for knowledge. Those who crave wealth find their coffers filled by the connections the Corruptor creates, and those who seek the pleasures of flesh shall find it so. By the magic of his magical contracts innocently offered to drag them deeper into their obsession, the shrewd negotiator can make those fantasies come true at a price. Already they have had their freedoms taken from them by his invisible chains, to sign a pact with him was undeniable.
And with these contracts, he may tap into the power of those poor souls, sealed away in their personal heavens but bound to be squeezed and abused at his pleasure. They who are trapped in an endless dream, but tormented in the same nightmare, used to lull another unsuspecting victim. He may channel the powers to seemingly warp reality to his desires, but ever moreso to twist the wishes of others. Take for example a man who wishes to be a king, but to do so would need to raise an army to raise a coupe. An army would be offered, perhaps summoned by the magic-users eternally bound by his contract or even comprising of fallen warriors who have sealed their future in the past. And the price for a regicidal army would be the future king's own soul. A bargain that the wise would be so wary, but the cunning would attempt to outwit. Nevertheless, when under the influence of desire, both wisdom and cunning become a hubris. And by the Corrupter's whim and will, that was so easily gained becomes so easily lost. So a collection of lost souls the Desert Demon gains, each trapped in their own prisons of eternal paradise. Such is his title, for he rules his subjects within their own kingdoms.
While it is with this psychic force that the Dark Dream eats away at the will. Appearing as he would to mortals in a form they find desirable by dulling their beliefs in anything but to conceal the truth of his horror. But this illusionary self-delusion is merely a front for the true abilities he possess in the form of his magical contracts that taint reality with unyielding fantasy. It is his contracts which create kings out of men who lust for power, and scholars out of men who long for knowledge. Those who crave wealth find their coffers filled by the connections the Corruptor creates, and those who seek the pleasures of flesh shall find it so. By the magic of his magical contracts innocently offered to drag them deeper into their obsession, the shrewd negotiator can make those fantasies come true at a price. Already they have had their freedoms taken from them by his invisible chains, to sign a pact with him was undeniable.
And with these contracts, he may tap into the power of those poor souls, sealed away in their personal heavens but bound to be squeezed and abused at his pleasure. They who are trapped in an endless dream, but tormented in the same nightmare, used to lull another unsuspecting victim. He may channel the powers to seemingly warp reality to his desires, but ever moreso to twist the wishes of others. Take for example a man who wishes to be a king, but to do so would need to raise an army to raise a coupe. An army would be offered, perhaps summoned by the magic-users eternally bound by his contract or even comprising of fallen warriors who have sealed their future in the past. And the price for a regicidal army would be the future king's own soul. A bargain that the wise would be so wary, but the cunning would attempt to outwit. Nevertheless, when under the influence of desire, both wisdom and cunning become a hubris. And by the Corrupter's whim and will, that was so easily gained becomes so easily lost. So a collection of lost souls the Desert Demon gains, each trapped in their own prisons of eternal paradise. Such is his title, for he rules his subjects within their own kingdoms.
A legendary metropolis which sits brilliantly in the desert like a radiant gem to scatter the sunlight for miles. It is a city built by the Jaria Clan, a desert people who serve and view Zhystkrexas as their God-King. Zhystkrexas himself rarely manifests his presence in the public eye, and thus the city itself is ran by its elite citizens, governing itself with its false-utopia to mask the corruption which has taken the very city. Every sort of pleasure and vice can be found within the polished stone walls, but the city itself has loose regulations, and developed magical defenses which essentially maintain a semblance of order. The entire city is self-sustaining, and requires no outside support, yet invites visitors from afar to experience what it has to offer. Most travelers stay however and become permanent additions to the city. Either willingly or worse. I'Zhystana also holds two secrets: the two sources of Zhystkrexas' powers.
Named after an ancient Jaria Chief, this sacred water source created the entire city through its powers, and is guarded by the Jaria Clan as their protected wellspring. The Oasis of Desire is a product of Zhystkrexas' power, as a vast amount of the entity's essence was invested into the creation of the black pool. It is said those who wish to harm Zhystkrexas must first drain or corrupt the pool, a task impossible as the temptations of the waters seem to affected the mind of all those who seek to destroy it. For unless one only has a desire to destroy the Oasis itself and only that one singular desire in all the world, then it shall rise up once more to fulfill the desires of those who thought the sought to destroy it.
Deep Beneath his Grand Palace, Zhystkrexas hides his legendary collection of bits and baubles under the desert sands locked away behind an curious door. The Vault is warded against forms of magic and hardened against physical attempts to destroy it, as the only guaranteed way to enter is through the Smiling Door. Called so as it features an usual bust of Zhystkrexas' monstrous head which claims the contents of the vault as his possession. The jaws open ever so slightly as to admit a trembling hand to twist and pull the handle unlock the doorway. But beware, for just as the pool was guarded by one's desire, so too is the vault as the Smiling Door bites off any hand which fails to prove its worthiness to enter Zhystkrexas' true horde. And the smiling bust shall serve as a remind that only a Heart as twisted and wicked as Zhystkrexas may enter.
For within his well-guarded secret is the other source of his power: all his magical contracts. The only way to undo a deal and release the soul bound to it is to either negotiate with Zhystkrexas himself, or to steal the original document from his possession and then destroy the contract. The former is usually unwise, and the latter is generally impossible. Yet for the hundred upon thousands of souls empowering him, what would one soul be?
For within his well-guarded secret is the other source of his power: all his magical contracts. The only way to undo a deal and release the soul bound to it is to either negotiate with Zhystkrexas himself, or to steal the original document from his possession and then destroy the contract. The former is usually unwise, and the latter is generally impossible. Yet for the hundred upon thousands of souls empowering him, what would one soul be?
The blessed servitors of Zhystkrexas. They serve him out of birthright as his mortal agents. Some serve to protect their God-King or his assets, others serve to expand his influence as merchants or skilled mercenaries. Some are 'entrusted' with positions of false power, but turn paranoid and scheme to retain such a precarious position and to earn the pleasure of their Lord. They are decent fighters and craftsman, but most of all shrewd negotiators and bureaucrats. As such the Jaria are a part of the City and Zhystkrexas himself, they are his numerous armies, his devoted acolytes, his awaiting swarm.
Gregarial, The Scepter of Satiation
Once a magical vessel which served to bring forth prosperity to the land, the nature of Zhystkrexas' power has long since corrupted it into this form. Melted down into its formerly pure gold, and its four diamonds and single ruby jewels recut and refitted to resemble the teeth and eyes of the dragon-like head that tops his personal weapon. The monstrous motif-bears a partial resemblance to Zhystkrexas' true form, especially in that its hinged jaw can be snapped open or shut with a twist of the its head. It is the cane which he uses to support his position, not physically as he feigns physical weakness, but symbolically. For it is his antithesis in a way, such that any non-sentient object that should be placed into its small jaws shall be duplicated, and that duplication itself shall continue to replicate endlessly until the original object is no longer within the rod's jaws. It is the weapon only befitting of one who causes an equally endless hunger, and perhaps the only thing that can weaken his grip on his world, as such he keeps a tight grip upon it.
Once a magical vessel which served to bring forth prosperity to the land, the nature of Zhystkrexas' power has long since corrupted it into this form. Melted down into its formerly pure gold, and its four diamonds and single ruby jewels recut and refitted to resemble the teeth and eyes of the dragon-like head that tops his personal weapon. The monstrous motif-bears a partial resemblance to Zhystkrexas' true form, especially in that its hinged jaw can be snapped open or shut with a twist of the its head. It is the cane which he uses to support his position, not physically as he feigns physical weakness, but symbolically. For it is his antithesis in a way, such that any non-sentient object that should be placed into its small jaws shall be duplicated, and that duplication itself shall continue to replicate endlessly until the original object is no longer within the rod's jaws. It is the weapon only befitting of one who causes an equally endless hunger, and perhaps the only thing that can weaken his grip on his world, as such he keeps a tight grip upon it.
The Myth
I approached him upon his golden throne, and he was far more handsome than I had heard. I found my eyes fixating upon the seat of his throne, wondering what monster was beneath his attire. He sat so regally, a presence so commanding that I had no shame in kneeling before him. I took to one knee and bowed my head, catching a glimpse of his charming smile. There my mind could only imagine those lips of his moving to the sound of his alluring voice asking if I wanted him. Every word dripping out of his mouth like golden honey, drizzled upon his chest. yes, how my tongue quivered inside as it brushed against my teeth, how I wanted to lick that sweetness off his glorious body. I lusted for him, and oh my heart leapt for joy when he placed the collar around my neck with that glorious smile, and wrapped the chain around his hand. He had made me his consort, another to join his court, his entourage, his harem. Yes, I am your servant, your slave, your lover. I surrender myself to you, oh great lord of the Jaria!
I looked up at him from my lowly place, having begged him for a single coin. What did he see in me? A mere tramp with nothing, no home, no family, no money. How great was his wealth and generosity that he would invite me to share bread with him? As the guest of honor? But oh he raised me from the poor beggar I was and dressed me in finery, silken robes trimmed with silver and inlaid with gold. He bought me jewels and fitted them upon my wretched hands, and his servants washed by feet with fragrant oils. What luxury did he have? What wealth to be able to do so to a nobody like me? And then he asked me if I dreamt of riches, far more than I could carry with my arms. I told him yes, I dreamt of a sea of gold and silver, diamonds and rubies, emeralds and sapphires, all the treasures as far as the eye could see, and that all of it be mine. Then he showed me his vaults, which were all that I had imagined and more. For mountains of treasures like the grains of sand in the desert surrounded me as he smiled, throwing me forward into the vast piles of wealth with his hand and telling me to take all that I could carry. How my eyes widened in disbelief in awe as I praised him, oh great lord of the Jaria!
I serve him for he has granted me peace. He consoled me when I had lost her, with his gentle hand placed upon my head as I grieved into his shoulder. When I thought I was abandoned, he strengthened my resolve. He had given me the means to my vengeance. A spear which he offered before my feet. He asked if sought justice for her death, and gave me the means to do so. He smiled as I picked up the weapon, rising and steadying myself with the shaft as my mind dwelt upon the deaths of her killers. He applauded as I came back, drenched in blood with only my sweat to wash the stains away. Justice has been served, and for this I owe him my life. This blessed spear with which I had carried back the impaled trophies of my enemies heads, now will become his. I shall fight for him, I am his spear that shall pierce all those that would stand before him. May I die for your name, Oh great lord of the Jaria!
I was invited to his feast, a banquet thrown at one of his lavish parties. I thought I had tasted everything there was in life, but he proved me wrong. There was a smorgasbord of dishes upon his table, all smelling of exotically pleasing to the nose as I licked my lips in anticipation. The drinks he offered, the wines poured which filled the cups of all those gathered around him, and me sitting to his right as the dishes were being passed around. And as I ate my fill of rare delicacies from around the world, he smiled while asking if I had saved room for the main course. The main course? What was this to him then? Merely an appetizer? And what was it that he would bring to top off these scrumptious delights we had just experienced? Then there it was, a small boy dressed in a white tunic, perhaps a serving boy, approached us. My eyes could hardly believe the horrors which happened, but as the succulent smell wafted into my nose, I could not resist lifting my fork up to bring the tender flesh to my lips. I thank you for a most excellent dinner, oh great lord of the Jaria!
I sought to test his power, and to know his limits. There I wished to know more than anyone mortal had, I challenged him to tell me the secrets to immortality. For long did I spend hours over ancient text regarding his kin, and years I had devoted of my life to the study of the Children. I had studied sorceries beyond the scope of many men, and perfected my spellcraft to rival the lesser gods. Yet I was still mortal, as poweful as I was, death would end it all. So I had traveled to his kingdom to see if I could deceive him into telling me how to become a god. And so through my flattery, did he feign his impressions, praising my skills to entertain his court as he asked what I wished to be rewarded with. My request was what I had longed for, knowledge forbidden to a mortal man: transcendence. So he smiled, as he offered me a scroll. Now the torments never end as my flesh burns and bones melt, my mortality being purged by the eternal flames as my soul fuels your power. You have won, oh great lord of the Jaria!
I had trembled at his arrival, kneeling before me at my bedside. For three moons had I reigned over as chief. What have I done to displease him? Why so now was I stricken with this malady? This accursed illness which leaves me here too sick to enjoy the fruits of my conquests? Even now my own advisors and family plot against me and each other. To take up that which is rightfully mine. Why have you abandoned me? I asked him in disbelief, coughing blood and hacking phlegm. Did he not promise me the power to rule over them? But what cruel irony that it was that I should be confined to dying on this bed while another sits in my throne. Ignoring my questions, he rose to lift my head to meet his eyes. Then he smiled and asked me if I was ready. Please have mercy, oh great lord of the Jaria!
I scoffed at the depravity of his kingdom when he approached me. I had rebuked him for the vast hedonism that bleeds out from his den of sin. I being virtuous detested all that he offered me. I wanted nothing that he could ever bring. So I bade him to leave, and left his presence. I sought refuge in the wilderness, away from his corrupting shadow. There I suffered in the heat of the sun, the cold of the night, the hunger of an empty stomach and thirst of a parched throat. But he would never taint me, I would be pure, and untouched. I would become a paragon of resisting the corrupting demon, the vile one who seeks to twist us all. And foolishly I thought I had rid of his influence at last, but he waited. He was patient, as I squandered away my time, living in moderation, living simply on the verge of death for fear of his return. How I wasted it all away, in pursuit of my enlightenment, a chance at family and friends, a chance to pursue a hobby and skilled art, a chance at a full life to experience it all. By attempting to resist him, I had fallen to the desire to resist him. And so he came to me once more in my old age, though I could not see his smile, as he asked me once more if he could grant me anything I desired now. Grant me rest, oh great lord of the Jaria!
I looked up at him from my lowly place, having begged him for a single coin. What did he see in me? A mere tramp with nothing, no home, no family, no money. How great was his wealth and generosity that he would invite me to share bread with him? As the guest of honor? But oh he raised me from the poor beggar I was and dressed me in finery, silken robes trimmed with silver and inlaid with gold. He bought me jewels and fitted them upon my wretched hands, and his servants washed by feet with fragrant oils. What luxury did he have? What wealth to be able to do so to a nobody like me? And then he asked me if I dreamt of riches, far more than I could carry with my arms. I told him yes, I dreamt of a sea of gold and silver, diamonds and rubies, emeralds and sapphires, all the treasures as far as the eye could see, and that all of it be mine. Then he showed me his vaults, which were all that I had imagined and more. For mountains of treasures like the grains of sand in the desert surrounded me as he smiled, throwing me forward into the vast piles of wealth with his hand and telling me to take all that I could carry. How my eyes widened in disbelief in awe as I praised him, oh great lord of the Jaria!
I serve him for he has granted me peace. He consoled me when I had lost her, with his gentle hand placed upon my head as I grieved into his shoulder. When I thought I was abandoned, he strengthened my resolve. He had given me the means to my vengeance. A spear which he offered before my feet. He asked if sought justice for her death, and gave me the means to do so. He smiled as I picked up the weapon, rising and steadying myself with the shaft as my mind dwelt upon the deaths of her killers. He applauded as I came back, drenched in blood with only my sweat to wash the stains away. Justice has been served, and for this I owe him my life. This blessed spear with which I had carried back the impaled trophies of my enemies heads, now will become his. I shall fight for him, I am his spear that shall pierce all those that would stand before him. May I die for your name, Oh great lord of the Jaria!
I was invited to his feast, a banquet thrown at one of his lavish parties. I thought I had tasted everything there was in life, but he proved me wrong. There was a smorgasbord of dishes upon his table, all smelling of exotically pleasing to the nose as I licked my lips in anticipation. The drinks he offered, the wines poured which filled the cups of all those gathered around him, and me sitting to his right as the dishes were being passed around. And as I ate my fill of rare delicacies from around the world, he smiled while asking if I had saved room for the main course. The main course? What was this to him then? Merely an appetizer? And what was it that he would bring to top off these scrumptious delights we had just experienced? Then there it was, a small boy dressed in a white tunic, perhaps a serving boy, approached us. My eyes could hardly believe the horrors which happened, but as the succulent smell wafted into my nose, I could not resist lifting my fork up to bring the tender flesh to my lips. I thank you for a most excellent dinner, oh great lord of the Jaria!
I sought to test his power, and to know his limits. There I wished to know more than anyone mortal had, I challenged him to tell me the secrets to immortality. For long did I spend hours over ancient text regarding his kin, and years I had devoted of my life to the study of the Children. I had studied sorceries beyond the scope of many men, and perfected my spellcraft to rival the lesser gods. Yet I was still mortal, as poweful as I was, death would end it all. So I had traveled to his kingdom to see if I could deceive him into telling me how to become a god. And so through my flattery, did he feign his impressions, praising my skills to entertain his court as he asked what I wished to be rewarded with. My request was what I had longed for, knowledge forbidden to a mortal man: transcendence. So he smiled, as he offered me a scroll. Now the torments never end as my flesh burns and bones melt, my mortality being purged by the eternal flames as my soul fuels your power. You have won, oh great lord of the Jaria!
I had trembled at his arrival, kneeling before me at my bedside. For three moons had I reigned over as chief. What have I done to displease him? Why so now was I stricken with this malady? This accursed illness which leaves me here too sick to enjoy the fruits of my conquests? Even now my own advisors and family plot against me and each other. To take up that which is rightfully mine. Why have you abandoned me? I asked him in disbelief, coughing blood and hacking phlegm. Did he not promise me the power to rule over them? But what cruel irony that it was that I should be confined to dying on this bed while another sits in my throne. Ignoring my questions, he rose to lift my head to meet his eyes. Then he smiled and asked me if I was ready. Please have mercy, oh great lord of the Jaria!
I scoffed at the depravity of his kingdom when he approached me. I had rebuked him for the vast hedonism that bleeds out from his den of sin. I being virtuous detested all that he offered me. I wanted nothing that he could ever bring. So I bade him to leave, and left his presence. I sought refuge in the wilderness, away from his corrupting shadow. There I suffered in the heat of the sun, the cold of the night, the hunger of an empty stomach and thirst of a parched throat. But he would never taint me, I would be pure, and untouched. I would become a paragon of resisting the corrupting demon, the vile one who seeks to twist us all. And foolishly I thought I had rid of his influence at last, but he waited. He was patient, as I squandered away my time, living in moderation, living simply on the verge of death for fear of his return. How I wasted it all away, in pursuit of my enlightenment, a chance at family and friends, a chance to pursue a hobby and skilled art, a chance at a full life to experience it all. By attempting to resist him, I had fallen to the desire to resist him. And so he came to me once more in my old age, though I could not see his smile, as he asked me once more if he could grant me anything I desired now. Grant me rest, oh great lord of the Jaria!
These are some of the tales you will hear from the other voices of I'zhystana, but I see you seek more than a short recollection. You want the truth, and I can offer you more insight into our Lord. All that this old storyteller asks in return is one favour for the knowledge offered in my story. Promise me this oh Hero, and I shall tell your tale with the rest of my old life so that they will know the truth of your victory Efendi. And of course, if it is not so much to ask, perhaps you can buy the rounds of drink to keep our lips moist as I speak and you listen hmm? Ah, our tale begins not in the distant past, but only a few miles in that direction from this humble watering hole for vagrant thieves, vagabonds and scoundrels, for it is there in that path lies the city of I'zhystana.
I'zhystana. Behold the jewel of the desert, the most splendorous city anywhere. While some say the City-State-Kingdom of Melaron is greater, let me assure you Efendi, once you have spent a single night in I'zhystana, no place in the world in this life shall be as glorious. For how can it be that for hundreds of miles of sand and more sand, that such a thriving metropolis can exist? The answer is quite simple Efendi, it is called I'zhystana for a reason.
For beyond her walls of endless pleasures beyond the imagination lies her secret. The bewildered travelers and visitors may find their hearts torn between the exotic brothels, the grand arenas, or indulgent spas. The sages can find refuge in their towering libraries and while the nobility chatter in their high-rising parlors. Vast world-class bazars for those hearts set on riches or dining upon the flavour of this world all in one night, lush gardens holding viewing galas for those who amuse themselves in the arts. Some may call it paradise, but for whose who consider it a den of debauchery should consider the great holy temples to their God-King. The worship of one being, the Lord of the Jaria.
It was he who gave life to this place, where once only sand and sun existed, now thrives life. For long ago, upon a blessed moon, did he come to them. They who had once which once roamed nomadically through the deserts, enduring the harsh lands to scavenge for their sustenance, as all who lived in the desert once did in the old days. Dozens of clans roamed the endless desert, pushed to survive this way as the other kingdoms encroached upon their lands more and more. And since no Kingdom lay claim to the barren desert, it was natural that it became a sanctum for those who had nothing left to lose but clung to the hope of life however meager. It was here in the land of nothing, in the hour of desperation, in the face of death, that the last chief of the Jaria clan signed his tribe into the service of a handsome stranger who appeared in his tent.
What happened that night no one truly knows, there are stories that claim the chief consummated the agreement, some who say that the chief was forced into signing, and other yet say there was no such stranger and the chief himself cried out to the desert for a miracle. Whatever happened that forgotten night, it was said that very morning the sunlight revealed the waters had sprung from beneath the sand. They say he was a divine being, heretics claim he was a demon that crawled out from the desert sands, but are they not one in the same? Others say he is no god, but merely a powerful sorcerer with a penchant for business, but I say who else can create all this from nothing but a god?
There was the gift provided, and now the Jaria clan alone may lay claim to abundance through their ancient dealings with their new Lord. In return for a single oasis, such that they may survive the desert, they had committed their entire surviving lineage to the God-King. Was it a fair trade? I would say any man who would help you cheat death itself was a man of great benevolence. He came to them with an offer of life, but they would in turn serve him. Brokers of his dealings, the middle man to spread his influence across the land, the example of what he could grant: a life of luxury in the barrens of the sunlit wasteland.
It is this life that some say is wrong, but to a people who lived on the edge and had nothing, was it so wrong Efendi? Hedonistic epicureans, the members of the infamous Jaria clan have an indescribable amount of wealth, knowledge and power throughout the lands. So much accumulated over the years by using their oasis as their capital asset, offering quenching water to the other wandering bedouins of the desert. A small price to pay for water was cheaper than blood. It was indeed a fine water supply, with cool, clean, and crisp water, waters which made everything seem better, food eaten with it was far more delicious. Sand became fertile to bear crops and crops water with it produced in overabundance. Wounds washed with it healed faster, skin more supple, and bodies more fragrant as libidos raised. It was indeed the miraculous water, the Oasis of Jaria. And yet they who drank it would find the same water no longer capable of sating their thirst. Food without it became bland, and all others became putrid without it, wounds festered and skin aged, clothing chaffed and crops died. They became locked in a dream, a dream which turned to a nightmare when the water ran dry.
So the addiction began, and they who partook in the Oasis became enslaved to it, enslaved to the deals of the Jaria who smiled as their wealth bounded upwards with every transaction. It was not merely water which their patron had given them, but far more, for from the desires of others they had their own filled. Power, fame, wealth, everything came in overabundance to the Jaria clan by the sacred oasis. The pool which to this day remains protected by the clan as they have built their empire around the holy waters. No longer have they need to use its miraculous abilities, but blessing of stranger is to be forever revered.
And there he sits upon his gold throne within his marble palace. Clad in gold rules the God-king Zhystkrexas. Praise be to you, oh Great Lord of the Jaria!
There, I have told you all that I know of our story Efendi, now I hope you will not have forgotten our agreement, there is a always a price in the city of I'zhystana, you must find a way to release me from my deal with my Lord...
A Story
Allow me to take a moment's rest in recounting my tale. Forgive this old storyteller's lips for being parched, but a brief respite to catch my wind and drink. Ah that reminds me of another tale of which I could tell regarding drinking, but that is not the story you asked for now is it? You travel to I'Zhystana seeking audience with my Lord? Who is this Kil-threx of whom you serve? Ah nevermind, perhaps you would have asked for another tale if you had the time. Now, where was I?
...And there Our warrior stood, bathed in the blood of the guards as he threw their lifeless bodies before the God-King's court. The crimson ebbs of battle mixed in with his panting breath and running sweat. The gallant Knight-Paladin had sought to slay the monster which had taken many of his order. Felling the eight Jaria guards within the throne room had taken a great deal of effort, let alone the dozens he had to vanquish to get this far. But it mattered, not for now the demon before him would die. It was over, he declared, through all this he, he was finally going to kill that thing that sat upon the golden throne. The moment he had been waiting for, to thrust his blade into the wretched heart of all sin and kill the beast at last.
But ah the God-King Zhystkrexas merely smiled, and beckoned the knight closer. And with the courage of a lionheart, the Knight charged his sword aimed at the Lord of the Jaria's chest. It was then that the good knight found his arm held, a force clutching at his wrist and a powerful hand gripping tight to prevent his blade from sinking into the boney flesh of the great beast. There in those precious moments he would wrestle for control over his own blade against the God-king, but found himself in a deadlock. And how he wanted to pierce its dark heart and more than anything at this moment, kill it.
But the God-King knew his desires, as it knows all desires and the evils which lay dormant in the hearts of men. So the Devouring One asked him the question, that if he would so easily trade his life away to kill it. And our knight in the heat of the battle of wills screamed yes as he felt the grip of the fiend loosen. Blade penetrated the God-king's chest and skewered its body to the very throne it had not arose from. Gazing at the lifeless body of the demon, our knight was victorious at last. Or was he?
For it was an hollow victory, just as he was a hollow man. His hand dropped his sword of its own vocation, moving to hold his face of its own accord. There in horror he realized what had happened, and his own hand betrayed him. A horrific scream and gruesome tearing, the terrified slayer began to rip off his own face. And there beneath his visage was seen... the Face of Zhystkrexas, Lord of the Jaria.
It is a tragic tale, but I have kept my promise to an old friend.
Many thanks to you for the drink Efendi.
GM
TheWizardLizard
Member
Seen
4 yrs ago
Okay. I'm ready. First round of CS reviews incoming. Before I go on, I should say this - don't fuss too much about power levels, guys. Some characters are going to be more powerful than others, but that's the way of these things; the Avengers has its heavy hitters and its Hawkeyes, but that doesn't mean Hawkeye is a worse character (okay, bad example.) Every character will have something to do and the ability to be useful, so don't fuss if you feel like yours couldn't hold up in a fistfight with the others. Don't get me wrong, all the characters should be powerful, but power doesn't have to mean being a big scary monster or having a big pile of spells: to quote everyone's favorite stick-figure lich Xykon, 'Power is power.' Power can be knowledge, or influence, or skill, or craftiness - you don't have to be a huge monster to catch the eye of Kil'threx, you just have to be very evil and very powerful; whatever that looks like.
@dragonmancer: Nidhoggr! May I say sir, you have excellent taste in Dark Souls bosses. I like what you've done with him - he feels both unique and a like a good old-fashioned 'Smaug' archetype. He's very powerful, of course, and I can easily see him being one of the heavier-hitting Harbingers, but I don't think he's too far over the top. Spelling and grammar a little rough in places, but I'm not a super hardass about that - just keep it readable and we're good. All in all, I'd say he's good to go - except one tiny problem preventing me from accepting him at this time, *cough* check the rules again *cough* validate me *cough*. All in all, pretty well done.
@TheWindel: Aesir, the Apotheosis of the Court! A very nicely executed Evil Overlord type, cool Myth, awesome lair, very well-written sample post. No real problems here, so. Accepted!
@MauveMarauder: Okay, while I don't hate the idea of a simple mass-murderer becoming powerful enough to gain the eye of the God of Evil, I've got a couple sort of big notes for this one. First and foremost, it doesn't totally jive with the 'fantasy theme' that we're going for here, and while y'all are encouraged to worldbuild, that's provided you stay within the genre, so... mentions of bike shorts, wet floor signs, warheads, glass trophy cases, that doesn't fit. Wizard academies do exist, but they're a lot more old-timey than a high school. Also the tone is sort of weird and stilted - she sort of seems like, without the occasional references to mass murder, she'd fit more in a teen slice of life story? If that makes sense? And her personality doesn't appear to jive with her being crazy evil at all - her pyschopathic tendencies should definitely be played up. All in all, while the concept of a teenage girl with way more power than sense and a deep mean streak isn't a bad one for a Harbinger, she currently doesn't seem like the type of person who'd turn the eye of the God of Evil when he's looking for lieutenants. Also, I'm going to have to veto the 'explodes with the power of a warhead' thing, just because a lot of the fun of this RP will be in big badass war sequences and any such detonations would probably solve a lot of problems a little too easily and quickly.
EDIT: Oh god, another one has appeared! I have accomplished nothing!
@dragonmancer: Nidhoggr! May I say sir, you have excellent taste in Dark Souls bosses. I like what you've done with him - he feels both unique and a like a good old-fashioned 'Smaug' archetype. He's very powerful, of course, and I can easily see him being one of the heavier-hitting Harbingers, but I don't think he's too far over the top. Spelling and grammar a little rough in places, but I'm not a super hardass about that - just keep it readable and we're good. All in all, I'd say he's good to go - except one tiny problem preventing me from accepting him at this time, *cough* check the rules again *cough* validate me *cough*. All in all, pretty well done.
@TheWindel: Aesir, the Apotheosis of the Court! A very nicely executed Evil Overlord type, cool Myth, awesome lair, very well-written sample post. No real problems here, so. Accepted!
@MauveMarauder: Okay, while I don't hate the idea of a simple mass-murderer becoming powerful enough to gain the eye of the God of Evil, I've got a couple sort of big notes for this one. First and foremost, it doesn't totally jive with the 'fantasy theme' that we're going for here, and while y'all are encouraged to worldbuild, that's provided you stay within the genre, so... mentions of bike shorts, wet floor signs, warheads, glass trophy cases, that doesn't fit. Wizard academies do exist, but they're a lot more old-timey than a high school. Also the tone is sort of weird and stilted - she sort of seems like, without the occasional references to mass murder, she'd fit more in a teen slice of life story? If that makes sense? And her personality doesn't appear to jive with her being crazy evil at all - her pyschopathic tendencies should definitely be played up. All in all, while the concept of a teenage girl with way more power than sense and a deep mean streak isn't a bad one for a Harbinger, she currently doesn't seem like the type of person who'd turn the eye of the God of Evil when he's looking for lieutenants. Also, I'm going to have to veto the 'explodes with the power of a warhead' thing, just because a lot of the fun of this RP will be in big badass war sequences and any such detonations would probably solve a lot of problems a little too easily and quickly.
EDIT: Oh god, another one has appeared! I have accomplished nothing!
@TheWizardLizard
Alright, thanks! I'll conjure up the god's message to his dragon (possibly child even), however after thinking about it more I was thinking of changing his poison fire to gold-black flames (nothing special about the fire other then its looks, you know how Kalameet breathed fire.) And keeping the toxic property to just a poisonous saliva to symbolize his corrupted greed and pride, that sound good?
Edit: And I included the message just now, thoughts?
Alright, thanks! I'll conjure up the god's message to his dragon (possibly child even), however after thinking about it more I was thinking of changing his poison fire to gold-black flames (nothing special about the fire other then its looks, you know how Kalameet breathed fire.) And keeping the toxic property to just a poisonous saliva to symbolize his corrupted greed and pride, that sound good?
Edit: And I included the message just now, thoughts?
The Grey Dust The / Grey
Member
Seen
9 hrs ago
@The Grey Dust
Oh dear, it seems the children of Aton have been reincarnated.
Quite, Indubitably, Indeed.
Perhaps this thread shall have a better drive force. That being said, the CS is incomplete for obvious reasons. I still have to think how one would go about contacting Zhystkrexas... As normally he contacts you...
Edit: I think a missive travelling to I'zhystana would do. I was originally thinking of having Zhystkrexas appearing due to someone's desire to meet him or something, but that would require me to drop the narrative form of the CS. And I'd hate to break the theme and have Zhystkrexas suddenly actively doing something.
Rune_Alchemist Absolute Depravity
Member
Seen
0-24 hrs ago
Name:
Khata Nyarlith
Title:
The Faceless One
Three-word description:
Arcane Nightmare Horror
Appearance:
When out among other gods, mortals, or anytime else she's basically not lounging in her abode, she...it, is dressed in luxurious purple robes, complete with long flowing and imposing cloak, claws metal gauntlets and a rather...odd mask covering his-hers-its, features. All of the equipment is summonable, meaning she can summon it from anywhere should she so desire. The robe itself is fairly durable, and acts as a fairly decent suit of leather armor to naturally deflect physical attacks. Of course, it has also been heavily enchanted and fortified. If one had the misfortune of removing the mask...well, all they would see is a gaping hole where its face should be.
If, one were to pay her a little visit in her not so humble abode and bow to her, they would find a much less mysterious, and much more beautiful and alluring creature. Standing roughly at five foot eight with pale skin, bright golden colored eyes dressed in fine silk clothing with pure white hair tied up, and wearing some fairly revealing clothing. She is often seen smiling, an uneasy sometimes 'unhinged' grin, one might say. Of course, this appearance is simply a magically kept facade. Her true form is...something much more terrifying.
This horrific fleshy mass is...well, exactly what someone's nightmares are made out of. Cold, clammy, and somewhat slimy to the touch its not something anyone wants to meet in a dark alleyway. It stands at eight feet tall, and lacks any sort of facial features. Only a giant gaping mouth, twisted sideways where a face should be. Three strong looking arms protrude from its body, with obvious muscle one might expect from something other than a mage. Powerful legs hold it upright, ready to carry the creature with the same musculature as its legs. Several tentacles writhe and protrude from the creatures body, ready to be used as weapons for both offense and defense.
Magic/Skills/Abilities:
As far as skills go, Khata is what some might say, a complete master of the arcane. She has a incredible advance understanding of magic in general, which she uses to create horrific arcane creatures. Her most powerful skill, however, is the ability to summon various abominations from some unknown plane. Contact with these beings have slightly eroded her sanity over the years, but she cares not. all is for the sake of knowledge and magic...and power. Of course, summoning such creatures are somewhat difficult to do in battles, though the effect they have and the sheer potential for destruction they can cause is greatly worth it.
However, such things won't help her if she's being attacked at close range. She can beckon these entities into a sort of half-existence, letting them dwell within her body and granting her a variety of effects and most importantly, physical boons and physical alterations. Aside from this, she also has various spells at her disposal that involve simply destroying things with the power of the stars and heavens.
her most unique ability, however, is the ability to speak to mortals within their dreams. Such dreams, are often horrific nightmarish things, often ending with the victim being devoured by some abomination. Such people, are usually eventually driven mad and are either killed, or flee and search for her tower...
Inventory/Holdings:
Inventory:
Enchanted Robes, to bind the flesh to a mortal form
A Staff Spear, to rend flesh of foes and commune with greater powers
A mask to conceal the face, to hide the true nature of things
Black stones, ascending to the heavens to beckon otherworldly creatures
The robes themselves are something summonable. They are enchanted to withstand physical blows, magic of all kinds, and extreme temperatures and environments. Aside from that, they are nothing special and function as typical robes do. Additionally, at her side and also summonable, is a spear designed to also function as a channel for magic. It does both jobs equally well, and while she's not as trained as some purely physical fighter would be, they would find themselves likely surprised by her skill with it to start with. And lastly, is her mask. It has the power to hide or reveal otherworldly things.
Tower of Nyarlith
The massive, sprawling black tower of Nyarlith is something of a legend among those who study the arcane. It is located not in this physical plane, but rather it has been summarily removed from this plane of existence thanks to pacts struck with eldritch beings. It was once located in what is today a vast desert, with nothing but sands and ruins as far as the eye can see. The desert was once home to a thriving civilization, but it has long sense fallen. Where the tower once stood, is nothing but a massive hole filled with water, where an eldritch guardian sleeps and watches over the seal that keeps the tower concealed from this reality. The hole, is said to be where the base of the tower once stood. Around it are the ruins of the city that have fallen into disrepair, and some have even sunken into the massive basin of water.
Slaves, Abominations, and the faithful
What does Khata enjoy more than anything else? Dominating others, and her precious little slaves who have lost all form of what one might call 'free will'. They have been broken mentally, but their physical abilities are kept intact for obvious reasons. Surprisingly, slaves are treated well as long as they of course, behave. They make up the main cannon fodder of her forces within the tower, catering to her every whim and fighting for her on the front lines as slave warriors. Often times, their equipment is pretty heavily enchanted with magic, and some make use of magic themselves.
Additionally, eldritch abominations which stalk the hallways and are always in the process of being made. These mindless creatures have no mind, and only serve to serve their masters. Mindless beasts, with no way to really control them. Set them loose upon enemy ranks, and watch the chaos unfold.
The faithful, are the few insane humans who make their way to the tower after being affected by her dreams. They for the most part, are normal humans who have taken up tutelage under her. Masters of the arcane and summoning eldritch beings and contacting them for boons.
Enchanted Robes, to bind the flesh to a mortal form
A Staff Spear, to rend flesh of foes and commune with greater powers
A mask to conceal the face, to hide the true nature of things
Black stones, ascending to the heavens to beckon otherworldly creatures
The robes themselves are something summonable. They are enchanted to withstand physical blows, magic of all kinds, and extreme temperatures and environments. Aside from that, they are nothing special and function as typical robes do. Additionally, at her side and also summonable, is a spear designed to also function as a channel for magic. It does both jobs equally well, and while she's not as trained as some purely physical fighter would be, they would find themselves likely surprised by her skill with it to start with. And lastly, is her mask. It has the power to hide or reveal otherworldly things.
Tower of Nyarlith
The massive, sprawling black tower of Nyarlith is something of a legend among those who study the arcane. It is located not in this physical plane, but rather it has been summarily removed from this plane of existence thanks to pacts struck with eldritch beings. It was once located in what is today a vast desert, with nothing but sands and ruins as far as the eye can see. The desert was once home to a thriving civilization, but it has long sense fallen. Where the tower once stood, is nothing but a massive hole filled with water, where an eldritch guardian sleeps and watches over the seal that keeps the tower concealed from this reality. The hole, is said to be where the base of the tower once stood. Around it are the ruins of the city that have fallen into disrepair, and some have even sunken into the massive basin of water.
Slaves, Abominations, and the faithful
What does Khata enjoy more than anything else? Dominating others, and her precious little slaves who have lost all form of what one might call 'free will'. They have been broken mentally, but their physical abilities are kept intact for obvious reasons. Surprisingly, slaves are treated well as long as they of course, behave. They make up the main cannon fodder of her forces within the tower, catering to her every whim and fighting for her on the front lines as slave warriors. Often times, their equipment is pretty heavily enchanted with magic, and some make use of magic themselves.
Additionally, eldritch abominations which stalk the hallways and are always in the process of being made. These mindless creatures have no mind, and only serve to serve their masters. Mindless beasts, with no way to really control them. Set them loose upon enemy ranks, and watch the chaos unfold.
The faithful, are the few insane humans who make their way to the tower after being affected by her dreams. They for the most part, are normal humans who have taken up tutelage under her. Masters of the arcane and summoning eldritch beings and contacting them for boons.
Myth:
Once, in the Vastness of the now desolate Great Desert, there existed a kingdom by the name of Azair. It was a prosperous, powerful kingdom that had been around for ages and had no equal in power. It was unified, a veritable utopia of wealth, civil stability and culture. Wars were said to have been a distant thing of the past, and power struggles were nonexistent for these people. Many people came to this utopia, lived there, and built lives. Of course, Utopias aren't exactly a realistic thing, and there is no such thing as a civilization without conflict...
The high priest of Azair used to be a friendly, kinder, older human. However, they had a fascination with things of the arcane nature that would eventually be his downfall. She skirted too close to the truth. Came into contact with eldritch beings who showed him visions of what the future might hold for him and the kingdom. War. Famine. Destruction. POWER. All he had to do...was let the creature in. Let it in his head.
So he did.
What happens next should be of no mystery. The old priest was devoured by his desire for arcane knowledge, drove him insane. Power hungry. Eventually, this led him to wrenching power from the king, constructing the Tower of Nyarlith out of the finest obsidian stone that could be mined. After that...he sentenced everyone to death, letting eldritch creatures roam the streets and have their way with the humans in return for locking away the tower in another plane of existence.
Of course, that's all history. Slightly embellished, or so the story goes. What is the actual truth of it? No one knows. For centuries, the tower had been dormant. Hiding away in its sealed off realm where its owner indulged their magic curiosities, eventually transforming even their own body into something horrific and inhuman. And then, came Kil'threx, speaking to them in a dream.
An eldritch creature had a task for them.
And they would agree wholeheartedly for a chance to serve a higher calling. Creating a portal between the realm of the waking, and the realm of the Nightmare Tower, she set foot on the world once again in such, a long, long time.
Personality:
Really...not all there in the head. Talks to herself, makes odd comments, and otherwise is just generally unhinged. She takes great pride in her abilities, and loves showing people just how destructive and awe inspiring they can be. She has an insatiable lust for knowledge, magic trinkets, and loves them to no end, actively seeking them out and will always accept items of a magical nature as payment for services rendered.
That said, she treats her slaves and subjects rather well as mentioned previously. She subscribes that a loyal slave who loves you, will always be more effective than a fearful slave that is similar to a feral dog. She'll even go out of her way to save slave units and soldiers, should she have too. Of course, disobedience and failure is dealt with harshly...but punishment is always acceptable when a slave has failed their duties.
Oh, and well, remember she's a complete sadist and often goes out of her way to inflict pain and suffering upon others that aren't her loyal slaves, faithful, or abominations.
Sample post (put this in a hider please):
"How lovely of you all to join us!" The voice cackled as the doors to the tower opened, a clock chiming somewhere above. "Wohoho, how lovely indeed! Majestic even! Welcome to my humble abode, little adventurers! I'm curious as to how you lovely little things found all of your way here! Entertain my curiosity some, maybe? Please? It's been oh so very long since I saw the outside world, being all trapped here in my castle~" The pale woman upon the throne giggled in an unsettling fashion.
"Do not listen to the creatures words or be...seduced by its form! That is what we are here to kill!" The white clad paladin drew his sword, the doors to the throne room slamming shut behind him. "It's not even a woman!" The other party of adventurers drew their weapons. One with a rather nasty looking axe, dressed in some black robes. Another with a large hammer engraved with various holy symbols. Khata simply laughed from her throne.
"Majestic! Heroes are heroes, even in a dream!" her smile turned into an unsettling grin as she looked down upon the adventurers in her throne room.
And then she was in front of the Paladin.
"Calling me an it...how rude. Typical hero! And here I am a damsel in distress, locked away in a tower. Are these not 'real' enough for you? Is that it?~" She said, pressing her chest against the paladins armor. The holy warrior reacted almost instinctively, aiming a sword right for the creatures heart...or where it was supposed to be. The blade pierced the creatures soft flesh, but instead of hitting the creatures heart and incapacitating it, she seemed wholly unaffected by it.
There was a sickening crunch as the paladins armor was pierced instead. The creatures arm had turned into a a mass of writhing tentacles that slowly enveloped the paladin, crushing his bones and slipping into the cracks through his armor. The other two shook off their shock quickly enough, and proceeded to counter attack, trying to save their companion. The axe was brought down in an attempt to strike her head. The hammer attacked her from the side, in an attempt to prevent her from running. However, she dropped the paladin...and was suddenly ten feet away back in front of her throne.
The heroes looked absolutely confused.
"Ah, ah, so adorable. So adorable! You funny little humans, so adorable! Saving him, when you should be saving yourselves! Surprised? This is my tower! You think you can defeat me here? My gods won't let me die so easily, ahahaha~ Lemme show you again."
Suddenly, she was once again in front of the heroes in the blink of an eye...with her spear slammed right into his heart. She swung the spear around, slamming it into the remaining hero.
"Hehe...one left. I wonder...how much fun I can have with you?~"
"Do not listen to the creatures words or be...seduced by its form! That is what we are here to kill!" The white clad paladin drew his sword, the doors to the throne room slamming shut behind him. "It's not even a woman!" The other party of adventurers drew their weapons. One with a rather nasty looking axe, dressed in some black robes. Another with a large hammer engraved with various holy symbols. Khata simply laughed from her throne.
"Majestic! Heroes are heroes, even in a dream!" her smile turned into an unsettling grin as she looked down upon the adventurers in her throne room.
And then she was in front of the Paladin.
"Calling me an it...how rude. Typical hero! And here I am a damsel in distress, locked away in a tower. Are these not 'real' enough for you? Is that it?~" She said, pressing her chest against the paladins armor. The holy warrior reacted almost instinctively, aiming a sword right for the creatures heart...or where it was supposed to be. The blade pierced the creatures soft flesh, but instead of hitting the creatures heart and incapacitating it, she seemed wholly unaffected by it.
There was a sickening crunch as the paladins armor was pierced instead. The creatures arm had turned into a a mass of writhing tentacles that slowly enveloped the paladin, crushing his bones and slipping into the cracks through his armor. The other two shook off their shock quickly enough, and proceeded to counter attack, trying to save their companion. The axe was brought down in an attempt to strike her head. The hammer attacked her from the side, in an attempt to prevent her from running. However, she dropped the paladin...and was suddenly ten feet away back in front of her throne.
The heroes looked absolutely confused.
"Ah, ah, so adorable. So adorable! You funny little humans, so adorable! Saving him, when you should be saving yourselves! Surprised? This is my tower! You think you can defeat me here? My gods won't let me die so easily, ahahaha~ Lemme show you again."
Suddenly, she was once again in front of the heroes in the blink of an eye...with her spear slammed right into his heart. She swung the spear around, slamming it into the remaining hero.
"Hehe...one left. I wonder...how much fun I can have with you?~"
@TheWizardLizard
Annnd there we go. Do tell if there are problems~
GM
TheWizardLizard
Member
Seen
4 yrs ago
Alright, I'm gonna sink my teeth into the new ones and get back to y'all tomorrow - I think I'll just slam out my CS and then call it a night. I've skimmed them already, and I like what I see so far, so. Good job.
That'll serve quite well, thank you. Nidhogg is accepted.
@TheWizardLizard
Alright, thanks! I'll conjure up the god's message to his dragon (possibly child even), however after thinking about it more I was thinking of changing his poison fire to gold-black flames (nothing special about the fire other then its looks, you know how Kalameet breathed fire.) And keeping the toxic property to just a poisonous saliva to symbolize his corrupted greed and pride, that sound good?
Edit: And I included the message just now, thoughts?
That'll serve quite well, thank you. Nidhogg is accepted.
1x Like
KoL Knight of Lorelei
Member
Seen
26 days ago
@TheWizardLizard
Here's my CS:
"The true tragedy of war are not the bleeding gashes it opens, but the scars it leaves behind."
⛓ Height: 174 cm.| ⛓ Weight: Unknown.| ⛓ Age: Over 10,000.
⛓ Name: Iona.
⛓ Title: Ahwaan's Ash.
⛓ Three-word description: Angel of Chaos.
⛓ Appearance: The first impression of Iona is that of a woman of stunning beauty with a tall and well defined physique, not unlike a marble statue chiseled by the hands of master of yore. Her body and curves are well proportioned, with a medium shapely bust and worked out muscles that only add to her womanly charm, further enhanced by her swaying, waist-long, blonde hair and eyes that share the color of rich red wine.
The features that call for most attention on Iona, are her huge, black-feathered wings that she can summon or dismiss at-will, as well as her stoic gaze that can cause any men to his heels with nothing but the sheer intensity of her stare.
⛓ Magic/Skills/Abilities: First and foremost, Iona is a fighter, being able to effortlessly wield any weapon ever conceived by mankind, but favoring her own arms, with dexterity that goes far above that of even the most seasoned mortal warrior. Iona's also a spellcaster far more experienced and able than any mortal, even the mightiest spells a mortal can ever hope to master are no problem for her however, Iona's true power lies in the holy element. As an angel it's only natural that Iona can wield a vast arsenal of holy magic. Smiting any who dares stand in her way without any form of mercy or remorse, Iona's the ultimate testament that light isn't necessarily good, much less nice.
Furthermore, Iona's also nearly immortal, being unaging, requiring no sustenance of any form to exist and possessing a healing factor that guarantees that she'll overcome even the most grievous of wounds, her ability to regenerate can be suppressed if she's sealed but the only thing that's said to be able to permanently kill Iona is whoever she recognizes her master, through a contract. As long as her master keeps on living, Iona will always come back and only him can end her life permanently.
⛓ Inventory/Holdings: Iona's most praised possessions are her armor, which can be made to look like any sort of garment (though she favors a lightly armored dress that only ever enhances her feminine charm), yet will always protect Iona in their integrity as well as her swords.
Dies Irae, Iona's dual blades, forged by a divine artisan from an unknown black metal that can only be damaged by weapons of equal quality, like the great hammer Mjolnir. Aside from both of them being blessed with holy powers, allowing the blades to strike true even against being that have no form or shape, like ghosts and spirits, they can also be joined by their hilts, changing shapes to become a black bow inlaid with golden runes. In bow form, Dies Irae can shoot powerful bolts of explosive holy light, instead of normal arrows.
Lastly, Iona is in possession of a pair of matched silver rings. She can give one to a being she wants to form a contract to and will always know where and how well the recipient she chose is. Conversely, the recipient can use ring to summon Iona to their side no matter the distance taking them apart, unless Iona is sealed. Both share a telepathic bond, being allowed to converse and share their emotional states without anyone infringing on their privacy.
⛓ Myth: A long time ago, before mankind and the other children of light rose to prominence, the world was a sea of shapeless chaos onto which the Gods breathed life, ushering shape and beauty to their Creation. All of them, except for Him, the Dark One, Bane of Life, Destroyer, Conqueror, by many names He was but only one only which He recognized as His, Kil'threx, the God of Evil. He sought to usurp Heavens and douse the world of the light in darkness, taking all the Creation to Himself.
The God of Evil's strongest weapon in His crusade for conquest, was also his Opus Magnum, the biggest mockery to the power of the other Gods, His own archangel, Ahwaan. Stealing the secrets of the other gods, Kil'threx, created a being of peerless beauty, wielding His enemies' own weapons against them as a testament that even the light would provide them no solace.
However, time would come when the Conqueror's army would fall, His might crushed and Ahwaan broken and sealed in an old temple, deep within a valley where no mortal dared to thread. Chained with links of pure silver, heart and stomach transfixed by her own blades, abandoned in the darkness from with she came, forever. The Archangel Ahwaan was no more.
Deep in her millenia long sleep, Ahwaan would have a vision, a dream of her master so handsome in His dark glory, seeking once more to free His ultimate tool upon the world of the light. When she woke up from her dream, Ahwaan found herself laying upon a bed she had never seen before, free from her binds, sitting on a chair beside her was him, the one who gave Ahwaan's freedom back, tho one who came seeking the power to conquer all, even the Heavens themselves, her new master, who had been ushered to find Ahwaan by none but her Creator.
The man who named himself Aesir said before the Archangel could even utter a single question. Nodding, Ahwaan no, Iona rose from the bed, taking the covers to preserve her modesty, and gazed upon the lands of her new master. There was a war to be won and Iona would once more be a spear of light, crushing down all those who were foolish enough to challenge her Master.
⛓ Personality: Iona is usually a stoic woman, only ever speaking, in her deep contralto, when it's important, or if prompted by her Master. She's not one to hold secrets and will always be true to her beliefs, no matter. Despite holding no pity for anyone, Iona despises those who abuse of their victims for petty sadistic reasons. In fact, it's not unknown of Iona to put down soldiers of their army that demonstrate psychopathic behavior. If Iona ever needs to eliminate a being that can't defend itself, she'll do so without hesitation, but in an apologetic way as she feels no pleasure from killing those who can't defend themselves.
Perhaps it's a quirk of her angelic, or feminine, nature but Iona really feels sympathy for women and children and will only raise her blade against hem if ordered by her master, or if they try to fight back in any way. In fact, Iona has requested to take the custody of any children orphaned and woman widowed by their wars
and for those she cannot spare, Iona will raise a grave.
Thanks to her mercy for the weak, Iona, is revered as a sort of saint, by those she brought under her wings, though Iona never let them place her above Aesir in their prayers. After all, it's only his mercy that allowed them to live. Iona will never overstep her bounds and try to usurp her Master however, it's not unknown of their followers to see Iona and Aesir as a couple. The truth of this statement is left to each of their imaginations, though.
⛓ Sample post:
Those were the words of her Master as he sat upon his throne, victorious once more. Iona stood beside him, with blades readied, in case any of their foes had a trick up his sleeve. The angel didn't face the enemies of her Master with pity, nor did she show contempt, she was indifferent, just staring at their dying forms through it all but remaining silent. It was not Iona's place to speak while her Master did so, after all.
And such was the truth. While Iona respected their efforts, facing her Master was a sure death sentence to anyone, Iona's blades would not waver or show remorse when taking down those who chose to stand and fight however, they knew honor and respect such as the dead are meant to be treated with.
"As you wish, Master." Iona said before setting her feet on the trail of Aesir, only ever stopping when one of the still surviving humans clutched her left ankle. "P-please, have mercy! I have a wif-wife and a child... newbo-" The man tried to say, before feeling the cold bite of Iona's sword piercing his heart from behind. "They'll know you died thinking of them. Now, you may rest..." The light of life left the human's eyes just as Iona pulled her weapon from his body and followed her Master once more.
"May I ask, for a new orphanage as well, Master? Our war is sure to make even more victims and I'd like them to not suffer more than necessary."
Here's my CS:
⛓ Iona, Ahwaan's Ash ⛓
"The true tragedy of war are not the bleeding gashes it opens, but the scars it leaves behind."
⛓ Height: 174 cm.| ⛓ Weight: Unknown.| ⛓ Age: Over 10,000.
⛓ Name: Iona.
⛓ Title: Ahwaan's Ash.
⛓ Three-word description: Angel of Chaos.
⛓ Appearance: The first impression of Iona is that of a woman of stunning beauty with a tall and well defined physique, not unlike a marble statue chiseled by the hands of master of yore. Her body and curves are well proportioned, with a medium shapely bust and worked out muscles that only add to her womanly charm, further enhanced by her swaying, waist-long, blonde hair and eyes that share the color of rich red wine.
The features that call for most attention on Iona, are her huge, black-feathered wings that she can summon or dismiss at-will, as well as her stoic gaze that can cause any men to his heels with nothing but the sheer intensity of her stare.
⛓ Magic/Skills/Abilities: First and foremost, Iona is a fighter, being able to effortlessly wield any weapon ever conceived by mankind, but favoring her own arms, with dexterity that goes far above that of even the most seasoned mortal warrior. Iona's also a spellcaster far more experienced and able than any mortal, even the mightiest spells a mortal can ever hope to master are no problem for her however, Iona's true power lies in the holy element. As an angel it's only natural that Iona can wield a vast arsenal of holy magic. Smiting any who dares stand in her way without any form of mercy or remorse, Iona's the ultimate testament that light isn't necessarily good, much less nice.
Furthermore, Iona's also nearly immortal, being unaging, requiring no sustenance of any form to exist and possessing a healing factor that guarantees that she'll overcome even the most grievous of wounds, her ability to regenerate can be suppressed if she's sealed but the only thing that's said to be able to permanently kill Iona is whoever she recognizes her master, through a contract. As long as her master keeps on living, Iona will always come back and only him can end her life permanently.
⛓ Inventory/Holdings: Iona's most praised possessions are her armor, which can be made to look like any sort of garment (though she favors a lightly armored dress that only ever enhances her feminine charm), yet will always protect Iona in their integrity as well as her swords.
Dies Irae, Iona's dual blades, forged by a divine artisan from an unknown black metal that can only be damaged by weapons of equal quality, like the great hammer Mjolnir. Aside from both of them being blessed with holy powers, allowing the blades to strike true even against being that have no form or shape, like ghosts and spirits, they can also be joined by their hilts, changing shapes to become a black bow inlaid with golden runes. In bow form, Dies Irae can shoot powerful bolts of explosive holy light, instead of normal arrows.
Lastly, Iona is in possession of a pair of matched silver rings. She can give one to a being she wants to form a contract to and will always know where and how well the recipient she chose is. Conversely, the recipient can use ring to summon Iona to their side no matter the distance taking them apart, unless Iona is sealed. Both share a telepathic bond, being allowed to converse and share their emotional states without anyone infringing on their privacy.
⛓ Myth: A long time ago, before mankind and the other children of light rose to prominence, the world was a sea of shapeless chaos onto which the Gods breathed life, ushering shape and beauty to their Creation. All of them, except for Him, the Dark One, Bane of Life, Destroyer, Conqueror, by many names He was but only one only which He recognized as His, Kil'threx, the God of Evil. He sought to usurp Heavens and douse the world of the light in darkness, taking all the Creation to Himself.
The God of Evil's strongest weapon in His crusade for conquest, was also his Opus Magnum, the biggest mockery to the power of the other Gods, His own archangel, Ahwaan. Stealing the secrets of the other gods, Kil'threx, created a being of peerless beauty, wielding His enemies' own weapons against them as a testament that even the light would provide them no solace.
However, time would come when the Conqueror's army would fall, His might crushed and Ahwaan broken and sealed in an old temple, deep within a valley where no mortal dared to thread. Chained with links of pure silver, heart and stomach transfixed by her own blades, abandoned in the darkness from with she came, forever. The Archangel Ahwaan was no more.
Deep in her millenia long sleep, Ahwaan would have a vision, a dream of her master so handsome in His dark glory, seeking once more to free His ultimate tool upon the world of the light. When she woke up from her dream, Ahwaan found herself laying upon a bed she had never seen before, free from her binds, sitting on a chair beside her was him, the one who gave Ahwaan's freedom back, tho one who came seeking the power to conquer all, even the Heavens themselves, her new master, who had been ushered to find Ahwaan by none but her Creator.
"From this day forward, you are Ahwaan no longer. Like the Phoenix, you have been reborn from the ashes of your former self. I name you Iona, the island upon which my eternal kingdom shall be built; you shall be my sword from now and forever more."
The man who named himself Aesir said before the Archangel could even utter a single question. Nodding, Ahwaan no, Iona rose from the bed, taking the covers to preserve her modesty, and gazed upon the lands of her new master. There was a war to be won and Iona would once more be a spear of light, crushing down all those who were foolish enough to challenge her Master.
⛓ Personality: Iona is usually a stoic woman, only ever speaking, in her deep contralto, when it's important, or if prompted by her Master. She's not one to hold secrets and will always be true to her beliefs, no matter. Despite holding no pity for anyone, Iona despises those who abuse of their victims for petty sadistic reasons. In fact, it's not unknown of Iona to put down soldiers of their army that demonstrate psychopathic behavior. If Iona ever needs to eliminate a being that can't defend itself, she'll do so without hesitation, but in an apologetic way as she feels no pleasure from killing those who can't defend themselves.
Perhaps it's a quirk of her angelic, or feminine, nature but Iona really feels sympathy for women and children and will only raise her blade against hem if ordered by her master, or if they try to fight back in any way. In fact, Iona has requested to take the custody of any children orphaned and woman widowed by their wars
and for those she cannot spare, Iona will raise a grave.
Thanks to her mercy for the weak, Iona, is revered as a sort of saint, by those she brought under her wings, though Iona never let them place her above Aesir in their prayers. After all, it's only his mercy that allowed them to live. Iona will never overstep her bounds and try to usurp her Master however, it's not unknown of their followers to see Iona and Aesir as a couple. The truth of this statement is left to each of their imaginations, though.
⛓ Sample post:
“War never changes. You humans only think it changes merely because you witness something that forces your mind to reconsider the variables. To recount, to rethink, to do away with strategies and plans. War may have many faces, with new weapons and ever developing powers…but I assure you my friend. War never changes.”
Those were the words of her Master as he sat upon his throne, victorious once more. Iona stood beside him, with blades readied, in case any of their foes had a trick up his sleeve. The angel didn't face the enemies of her Master with pity, nor did she show contempt, she was indifferent, just staring at their dying forms through it all but remaining silent. It was not Iona's place to speak while her Master did so, after all.
“You’ve done well to reach my doorstep, but alas, like any pawn, you were destined to fall... To think you’d sacrifice yourselves in the efforts of slaying Aesir of the Court among your own bodily shells… a bold move. But ultimately useless against me...”
And such was the truth. While Iona respected their efforts, facing her Master was a sure death sentence to anyone, Iona's blades would not waver or show remorse when taking down those who chose to stand and fight however, they knew honor and respect such as the dead are meant to be treated with.
“Come Iona. We have much to do. The humans have made my blood boil with ecstasy by forcing me to make a new army. My favorite pastime...”
"As you wish, Master." Iona said before setting her feet on the trail of Aesir, only ever stopping when one of the still surviving humans clutched her left ankle. "P-please, have mercy! I have a wif-wife and a child... newbo-" The man tried to say, before feeling the cold bite of Iona's sword piercing his heart from behind. "They'll know you died thinking of them. Now, you may rest..." The light of life left the human's eyes just as Iona pulled her weapon from his body and followed her Master once more.
"May I ask, for a new orphanage as well, Master? Our war is sure to make even more victims and I'd like them to not suffer more than necessary."
⛓ Theme ⛓
MetalHead Servant of Metal
Member
Seen
7 yrs ago
Hmmm, i'm very tempted to make an orc warlord.
MauveMarauder
Member
Seen
8 yrs ago
Rewriting the character. When I'm done, should I make a new post or just edit the one I already made?
GM
TheWizardLizard
Member
Seen
4 yrs ago
Alright, next round of CS reviews is incoming!
@The Grey Dust Zhystkrexas, Lord of the Jaria. I am blown away, dude. The level of detail and the quality of the work here is really incredible. I have no real notes or problems, so just as soon as the contact with Kil'Threx is added, I'm happy to say that He Who Hungers is accepted.
@Username Khata Nyarlith, the Faceless One. Once again, well done - cool character with a well-written sheet. Accepted. Get in there and grant us some eyes.
@KoL Iona, Ahwaan's Ash. Call me a broken record, cus this is also a very well done sheet with little to complain about - I appreciate how she fits in with the established story of Kil'threx, and I think she'll be a very interesting character as a result. Her more merciful ways are also interesting - I'm looking forward to seeing how she deals with the more sadistic/barbaric Harbingers. Can't accept it yet because there's still the matter of how Kil'threx contacted her, which should be neat to see, but once you add that you're good.
Well done to everyone! Now that our roster is starting to fill out, I should mention that you should all feel free to PM each other and talk and discuss how or if any of these villains have met each other before, what they think of each other, and so forth. I also intend to make a 'Locations' section in the main page for all the places and stuff that are created, so if you guys wanna write anything to go in there, be my guest.
Oh, and editing the old one will be fine, @MauveMarauder.
@The Grey Dust Zhystkrexas, Lord of the Jaria. I am blown away, dude. The level of detail and the quality of the work here is really incredible. I have no real notes or problems, so just as soon as the contact with Kil'Threx is added, I'm happy to say that He Who Hungers is accepted.
@Username Khata Nyarlith, the Faceless One. Once again, well done - cool character with a well-written sheet. Accepted. Get in there and grant us some eyes.
@KoL Iona, Ahwaan's Ash. Call me a broken record, cus this is also a very well done sheet with little to complain about - I appreciate how she fits in with the established story of Kil'threx, and I think she'll be a very interesting character as a result. Her more merciful ways are also interesting - I'm looking forward to seeing how she deals with the more sadistic/barbaric Harbingers. Can't accept it yet because there's still the matter of how Kil'threx contacted her, which should be neat to see, but once you add that you're good.
Well done to everyone! Now that our roster is starting to fill out, I should mention that you should all feel free to PM each other and talk and discuss how or if any of these villains have met each other before, what they think of each other, and so forth. I also intend to make a 'Locations' section in the main page for all the places and stuff that are created, so if you guys wanna write anything to go in there, be my guest.
Oh, and editing the old one will be fine, @MauveMarauder.
KoL Knight of Lorelei
Member
Seen
26 days ago
@TheWizardLizard
It's already there on her myth, right after I wrote about her imprisonment, she got a dream about Kil'hrex promising her freedom back, which was actualized in the form of Aesir finding her. Whenever I used a capitalized pronoun I was talking about Kil'threx, in the same way that one only uses them when referring to Yahweh.
It's already there on her myth, right after I wrote about her imprisonment, she got a dream about Kil'hrex promising her freedom back, which was actualized in the form of Aesir finding her. Whenever I used a capitalized pronoun I was talking about Kil'threx, in the same way that one only uses them when referring to Yahweh.
GM
TheWizardLizard
Member
Seen
4 yrs ago
@TheWizardLizard
It's already there on her myth, right after I wrote about her imprisonment, she got a dream about Kil'hrex promising her freedom back, which was actualized in the form of Aesir finding her. Whenever I used a capitalized pronoun I was talking about Kil'threx, in the same way that one only uses them when referring to Yahweh.
Oh yeah, look at that. Woops. My bad, accepted!
1x Laugh
KoL Knight of Lorelei
Member
Seen
26 days ago
<Snipped quote by KoL>
Oh yeah, look at that. Woops. My bad, accepted!
No worries, with all of this to review, missing minor details is normal.
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