[CHAR] Against the Fangs of God

[Trivval]

Amhimitl

HEART AND MIND - WHO YOU WERE BEFORE

Name: Amhimitl
Sobriquets: The Spear of the Hunt, Hasta Ji

Concept: A young apprentice, scarred by a journey beyond the Edge of the World, twisted by the mutterings of the unknown and plagued with visions.

Origin: Amihimitl, the Spear of the Hunt, began life under a different name, now lost to the world. He was the third son of a merchant dynasty, set up from a young age to apprentice with the family alchemist. He learnt all about the native, imported plants, the bits of creatures and types of bugs that could heal or harm or create or destroy. The alchemical trades were the key to mastering mercantilism. Through it, meats could last journeys across deserts, banquets could be created from husks with a few drops of water, and a dull weapon when unsheathed could cut through stone.

But this all changed when the head of the Family was wrangled into a deal to support an expedition into the Edge of the Known World. Committed, lest the Family lose face, the Head sent his third son (amongst others) on this expedition; after all, he had more sons and such a commitment stood him well in the courts of honor and let him forgo some other assets more valuable to the Family. Risk versus reward, if the Third Son returned he would bring the family much fame and riches; if not, there were other apprentices.

The expedition went as well as one could expect. Fell beasts were slain, riches gathered, and the party was slaughtered one by one by one as they sought to escape with their bounty. Every day, every hour, whittled the manpower, morale, and sanity of the group, until the few remaining went their separate ways, each arguing that this way was the exit of the neverending jungle (when, in fact, they were deeper than they had ever been before).

Chased by dire creatures unimaginable, thus the Third Son became Amihimitl. Stumbling through the tunnels and rooms of an ancient city that had lost its fight with the jungle, he found himself saved, the sinister essence chasing him cut down with beams of light and fire from a room with many Eyes embedded in the walls. Stuck in this room of many eyes, he saw the Third Son looking at the Alchemist's Apprentice looking at himself from two score angles. Looking through himself, from himself, with himself, at himself collapsing on the ground.

When he awoke he felt different. He felt emboldened, powerful, and he felt a connection to something otherworldly. He could see through the eyes around the room - and some elsewhere. He could see parts of cities, caves, forests that were many hundreds, thousands of leagues from where he was. He could also hear a great creature calling to him, telling him who he was now. No longer the Third Son, an Apprentice Alchemist, now he is the Spear of the Hunt, he holy weapon of the ancient Hunter who laid dormant for millenia. He can feel the Blind Spearman at loss without his Weapon and without his Eyes. So, dressing himself with what was left before him, and after gathering up the Eyes, the Spear follows the Call.

Appearance: Day to day, Amhimitl travels as a merchant - making use of his former training as an alchemist providing healing salves and tonics to small villages he passes through. Dressed in contemporary clothing, he travels on a cart with filled with alchemical supplies, often joining other merchant caravans temporarily. Within the cart he hides the equipment that he was guided to after he awoke in the Temple: armor, shields, weapons and decorative feathers from a long dead beast.

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Skills and Flaws

Alchemist: For all his young life - all his past life - Amhimitl was trained as an alchemist. Primarily specialising in the natural arts, without transmutation of core elements, he won’t be changing lead to gold any time soon.

Jaguar Warrior: Once awoken in the temple, Amhimitl felt out of place. In the back of his mind he had memories of war, revelling in violence and bloodshed despite never drawing blood on another being before the expedition. Through the prompting of the Blind Spearman and the Eyes, Amhimitl learnt how to master these memories of the Spear who came before him, and can fight like the Champion of the Gods that now believes he is.

Avatar of the Hunt: Amhimitl is a man of two worlds. In his old life as the Third Son he spent all his life in cities. He can slip unnoticed through crowds, find shortcuts through what would be impassable terrain to a non-urbanite, and navigate the undercurrents of a city that would go unnoticed by most. Also though the ancient memories given to him, he's as much at home in the wilderness as he is in the city, able to survive alone on what nature provides. These survival skills in stalking and hunting can also come into play in the city - which is merely a jungle of stone.

Indecisive Puppet: Amhimitl was chosen because he is impressionable. He rarely thinks for himself, always focusing on the opinion of others to guide his path.

Hooks:

• Somewhere deep inside him he is still the Third Son of a great merchant family, and he longs to return to their fold.
• Amhimitl is a puppet of Mixcoatl, a Nephilim who describes himself as the God of the Hunt, and thus believes as the Champion of this god that it’s his responsibility to ensure that people worship the Blind Spearman.
• Amhimitl knows there are other Ancient Nephilim out there without their mortal avatars and he seeks to revive them.

SOUL - WHAT YOU ARE BENEATH THE SKIN

Initiation: When he awoke in the ruined temple he found he had powers unnatural to mankind, an innate connection to a being which described itself as a god, intimate knowledge of the lives of dozens of other people who held his position in past lives, and a connection to dozens of Eyes..

Weirds

Eyes of a God: Amhimitl has collected 42 Eyes, small orbs each of unique shape and colour. Through these eyes he, and Mixcoatl, can see the world, no matter where the Eye is. He knows there are others out there, scattered throughout the world - some in Museums, some trapped where they fell during a battle long ago, some just lying waiting to be found - and he does his best to collect them. The Eyes can fly and stick to surfaces and can shoot beams of hot light.

Warrior Jaguar: Amhimitl can transform into this beast of the jungle at will, though it looks rather out of place roaming the temperate forests of the Known World.

Human Sacrifice: Through some arcane conduit unknown to him, through a ritual act forgotten by Mortals for millenia, he can absorb and distribute the strength of another mortal. He can also bank up this strength for a little while, but not too long.

BLOOD AND BONE - THE NEPHILIM

Nephilim: Mixcoatl
Sobriquets: The Blind Spearman, God of the Hunt

Concept: A manipulative, Nephilim defeated many millennia ago, looking for revenge.

Form: Mixcoatl a truly massive creature seemingly made from some kind of stone that towers above most structures that mortals have the veracity to attempt to build. It is top heavy, so typically moves around by knuckle-walking, though can move bipedally for short distances, and has massive reverse wings coming from its lower back that enables it to fly short distances. Mixcoatl is blind and cannot see without his Eyes being near, which cannot be powered without his Spear - Amhimitl.

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Abominations

Ancient: One of the eldest Nephilim, Mixcoatl has forgotten more about arcanery and war than most will ever learn… that is, if it could forget. The Blind Spearman can rip thoughts and memories out of someones head, leaving an empty husk. It can then give someone else’s life to that husk or give the memories to another living creature.

Goliath: Mixcoatl is truly massive, gigantic, enormous. Its physical prowess is unmatched.

Flight: Mixcoatl’s weird, deformed wings can allow flight for a short distance.

Blind: The Blind Spearman is… blind. Without his Spear he can see nothing, hear nothing, sense nothing. An immortal mind trapped in a mountain.

[NewShoesForever]

Avers Lacht

HEART AND MIND - WHO YOU WERE BEFORE

Name: Averz Lacht
Sobriquets: The Stitcher, The Herald of Machines

Concept: Former professor gone mad, turned one man technological revolution

Origin: Avers was once little more than an armchair scholar at the University of Havlic at Roehaven, studying ancient alchemy and philosophy. He was a quiet man in those days, not prone to emotion or rash decisions, though beneath his unremarkable exterior, he was deeply dedicated to academia.

It was this very dedication that led him to seek the ancient knowledge of astrology, as rumors of the forbidden art intrigued him. Once a man with a social life and a job, Avers became more and more obsessed with consuming every last scrap of knowledge he could gather. His friends slowly drifted away. His fiance left him. Even his parents and siblings soon broke contact with him, as his quest to understand the lost art consumed him utterly.

The turning point came one night in a dream. The Dead Stars reached the fringes of his mind and gave him visions of his perfect future for all mankind. A future where the forces of nature were subjugated and the Beasts, the Angels, Even God herself, served and feared mankind. A future where gleaming towers of knowledge cast shadows over ignorance. A future where metal and flesh were one in the same.

This was to be Avers mission. This great work. His Crucible of Gears.

Avers has heard that the Queen herself is in need of a weapon powerful enough to kill an angel. If his Science can help her construct one, it will be a huge milestone on his mission.

Appearance: Avers is a tall, scruffy man with sunken features. He is never seen without a stark white labcoat and gloves. The marks and scars of his self-experimentation are visible on close examination. His hair is unruly and seems to be going prematurely gray.

Skills and Flaws

Secret Histories: It pays to remember that, even before he was the being he is today, Avers was a respected professor at a university. He possesses an astonishing store of information on subjects historical, linguistic and mathematical. His learning grants him no small amount of insight into the strange and terrible workings of the world, as well as allowing him to finance his projects via trade of obscure relics.

Master Plan: Avers lacks anything resembling combat ability in the traditional sense, instead relying on his creations to fight for him. He is, however, a rather talented planner, being able to set traps and calculate optimal maneuvers with fairly impressive speed.

Crucible of Gears: Avers's most defining trait is his status as inventor par excellence. His creations, built with visionary technological designs and animated with magic, are one of a kind and require significant time and resources to create. Currently, his panoply consists of: The Deconstruction Apparatus (A harness-mounted muscular arm of clockwork and corpseflesh that ends in a spinning blade), The Impulse Probe (A clockwork spider that broadcasts images to a reanimated eye) and The Inhalater (A breathing apparatus).

Overload: The same whispers and visions that drive Avers have shattered his mind quite thoroughly. As a result, Avers can be a bit scatterbrained, even incoherent. He is willing to break any taboo to make his future a reality, but often doesn't care if a project is left incomplete or even dangerously unstable when the next bolt of inspiration strikes him.

Hooks:

• Avers's ex-fiance is still out there. Beneath all the vision and madness, Avers does wish to reconcile with her.
• There is no room for mindless predators in Avers vision of the future. The Beasts must be understood, preferably via vivisection.
• Is it possible to create an artificial Angel?

SOUL - WHAT YOU ARE BENEATH THE SKIN

Initiation: The dream that spawned the Crucible of Fire marked the burning away of the last shreds of Avers's sanity. When he awoke, he had been granted the powers to make his vision a reality.

Weirds

Sparks Fly: Frequently used to assist in the animation of his creations, Avers has the ability to generate and control electricity, though doing so to any great degree is usually exhausting. That said, exposure to this lightning often leaves mutations and diseases in living organisms, an effect which Avers himself has been studying for quite some time.

Weird Science: Avers has mastered the art of using the cast off bits of others and integrating them into living creatures, creating hybrid animals, flesh grafts and partially mechanical beings.

Automaton Array: Avers can, with the help of a rusted gear as a conduit, use his skills to hastily assemble and animate clockwork automatons remotely. The automatons individual abilities vary depending on the components available, though what doesn't vary is the ability's duration, which is universally ten minutes, after which the automatons collapse into oddly magic-resistant scrap metal and cannot be reanimated.

BLOOD AND BONE - THE NEPHILIM

Nephilim: Inviolate Archon
Sobriquets: Vanguard of the Future

Concept: Whatever personality Vanguard may have had, years of experimentation and modification have left it functionally mindless.

Form: Much like its mind, Vanguard's form has been so thoroughly altered by Avers that it bears little resemblance to its original form. It currently appears as a shambling, lopsided figure of only vaguely humanoid proportions, equal parts mechanical and biological. Its most distinguishing feature is the massive electrical coil protruding from its toothy maw.

Abominations

Evolutionary Artifice: Vanguard's primary ability is similar in some ways to its wielder's own. Vanguard can hastily incorporate other biomatter or machinery into itself to either repair itself or enhance its capabilities via grafted limbs, size modulation or, occasionally, assimilation of data processing systems.

Touch of the Machine: Vanguard's primary offensive tactic is the coil in its mouth, which produces a magical electrical storm that can turn living matter to metal.

Archon's Warding: Though utterly broken and remade, trace amounts of the Nephilim that was Inviolate Archon occasionally resurface, as it is sometimes able to manifest warding and binding glyphs on nearby surfaces that prevent damage or prohibit certain actions. Though admittedly useful, Avers has worked frequently to suppress this ability, as he fears that it may bring out the Nephilim's original consciousness.

Hodgepodge: Given its patchwork nature, Vanguard is sometimes rather unstable and prone to the occasional malfunction. There also exists the slight chance when attempting to integrate a new component that it will reject it, usually with disastrous results.

[Kala]

The Orphan of Anshu

HEART AND MIND - WHO YOU WERE BEFORE

Name: Esha
Sobriquets: The Orphan of Anshu

Concept: An orphan forged into a tool of war, heir to a black heart and a wish that neither truly belong to her.

Origin: Abandoned by the world, born with no name or a home. The nameless thing was but one of many orphans left in the wake of the devastation of the world as the very heavens descended upon it and man turns against their neighbour in a desperate bid to survive. The tale of a forlorn child would have been a short but a common one were it not for the mercy of a weeping man she would come to call “Father”. Once a beacon of hope for the lands he ruled, she knew that “Father” embodied the very pinnacle of human excellence. Blessed with wisdom and the willpower to turn dreams into reality, if any could have saved the lands of Anshu, it would have been him. But it was not to be, hope turned ashen and in the shadow of that blinding potential rested despair. Even at their greatest, humans are but ants when faced with the forces that govern fate.

So it was that “Father” looked towards the stars and dreamed of a place where humanity could shine amongst them. A dream inherited by the forlorn child, a dream inherited by the countless orphans that “Father” had taken and perhaps even made. It was a dream that served as a catalyst of change for the forlorn child for she was finally needed by someone. Locked within the Cradle of Stars, she and many suffered cruel and heartless experiments, stripping away her humanity and with it hoping to find the key to something greater. In time the nameless child would even become the hand to practice the weaving of flesh, to marry the human with the strange and forbidden, for she was not beholden to the values of humans.

Death was a blessing, for the alternative was far worse as meddling with the eldritch and the arrogance to master the unknowable left many but husks of their former selves, mockeries to humanity itself. The nameless child thought little of this, for the unimaginable becomes everyday, the hideous becomes tedious, the unbearable becomes routine. The child herself was also but another subject at times, the difference is that she endured where others fell. Less than a dozen persisted to reach the final trial, to be the host of a black heart recovered from places unspoken from. She was not the first upon the operation table nor the last to be chosen, but it was her body the black heart choose for she did not perish, in fact she grew stronger. Whispers that she could not fully understand filled her mind, opening her to the mysteries of sorcery. It was upon this success that “Father” finally bestowed a name upon the nameless girl, naming her Esha. To carry a wish not her own, in a heart that was not truly hers.

The cradle educates, but it is unable to offer more than it possesses. She had entered as a nameless orphan and departed as a hunter, to claim the knowledge and means that were beyond the ken of common man. Her first ventures knew the constant scrutiny of the agents of “Father”, allowed only brief engagements in the countless wars and skirmishes of the Eight Nations where she could truly explore and refine her talent. Only to be unleashed upon the beasts of the Edge of the Known World, claiming whatever she could of their strength for her own.

Esha’s caretakers however, did not endure the rigors of the Edge of the Known World, leaving her with none to hold her leash. Ignorant of the wider world yet possessing the burning wish entrusted to her, she returned from the Edge and found herself in the wolf-haunted kingdom of Elatreis. “Father” had been the pinnacle of what she believed a man could be, yet as the legends of the hunter-saints reached her ears she grew ever more curious to learn of six who could do what hundreds could not, to slay a behemoth.

Appearance: The Orphan of Anshu is sometimes also known as the Doll of Anshu, years of living within the Cradle and hunting through the night have left her with an eerily pale alabaster skin, as if never having known the kiss of sunlight. Standing at a diminutive height despite being a fully grown woman, she could easily blend in a crowd were it not for some peculiar oddities about her being. Overall her body possesses a lithe but toned physique, born from years of training and hunting beyond the Edge.

Wisps of white hair frame her face and her crimson eyes, marking her as an albino. Her long locks often woven into a thick braid trailing down all the way to her lower back. A bushel of brightly coloured feathers hanging from the ribbon keeping her hair braided together. One might even consider her a beauty, but that idea would surely vanish if one were to ever see what rests below her clothing. Pale flesh darkened into leathery black blotched skin before exposing the pulsing mass of grotesque black flesh, numerous circular holes can be found in this wreath of horror, closing and opening as swollen flesh parts and tightens. One experienced in the field of medicine can perhaps even make up the shape and some qualities of a constantly beating heart. The eldritch organ spanning across most of her upper left torso.

Fortunately, it is a secret well-guarded with numerous layers of clothing. Shrouded in a tattered deep red cloak, exotic patterns native to the Edge trailed across its surface in an even darker shade of red, with numerous brightly coloured feathers dangling from the hem. Beneath the cloak Esha is clad in a pair of thick leather boots, reaching just past her knees. Countless exotic feathers blossom from the upper edge of her boots, before giving way to a pair of voluminous pair of dark brown pants. Fastened by a leather belt holding all sorts of small pouches and straps for amenities, a long length patterned white cloth hangs across her left hip, the fabric stained with dried blood. Her torso largely covered by a dark voluminous shirt, each short sleeve wide enough to match the girth of a small tree trunk. The hem of her shirt lined with a similar exotic pattern as her cloak.

Her head and face however are often obscured by the massive beast skull helmet mounted on her head, thick horns curving inwards while thick fangs still protrude from its sealed jaws, curving along the side of its jaw. Its eye sockets have been carefully removed to allow her red eyes to peer through the holes. Despite that a small mane of dark green feathers graved the back of her helmet, her long white braid often spilled past that, giving some indication that she was a human wearing a helmet.

Commonly she is equipped with a steel anelace, crafted with a special hilt that can be attached to a chain and sickle that she often wields in her right hand. A small steel ring can often be seen locked around her middle-finger, with two pointed tips angled downwards, faint traces of dried blood can be seen on the tips.

Skills and Flaws

Hand of Mercy: As a hand of “Father” in carrying out his nightmarish experiments, Esha acquired an intimate understanding of the inner workings of both the human body and of many beasts alike. Yet as a subject who knows suffering, her medical knowledge swelled as she tended to the ill and cursed alike, alleviating their pains from unknown causes. Far from the likes of true physicians, she can at least ease one’s suffering and if required, offer one a painless end.

Eldritch Hunter: Esha is a hunter of the strange, the weird and forbidden. Equipped with an anelace attached to a chain and sickle, she has been known to be threat on both close and medium range and ever flexible to adjust to the situation at hand. Numerous hunts on beasts left her agile and quick to dodge, for to do otherwise would be to court death.

Writhing Mind: Raised in the Cradle and later nurtured in a life of constant battle. The world that Esha understands is one vastly different from the one that most others experience. Leaving her far better equipped to endure the rigors on the mind from both the battlefield and the things man were not meant to behold.

Stranger to the Mundane: Allowed very little contact with the world outside, even during her journeys she was kept away from most settlements, giving birth to one unknown to the ways of the world. Alien to the very basics of society, not even considering that one might lie for practical reasons rather than purely emotional ones, Esha can be easily exploited when it comes to navigating the many intricacies of society that are taken for granted.

Hooks:

• She was not first or last to be chosen receive the black heart, amongst the orphans of the Cradle that would have come after her. One believes that it was more deserving to be the black heart’s recipient.
• She has known only the love of one, she has only received the wish of one. To bring about the ascension of man, to offer them entry into a realm of gods. But perhaps the orphan might find a wish of her own in a world on the edge of apocalypse.
• Thousands have been dragged to the Kingdom of Night, torn away from the world at the hands of angels. What is it the Angels see in humanity to draw them into Heaven, what is it that humanity is yet blind to.

SOUL - WHAT YOU ARE BENEATH THE SKIN

Initiation: Host to the black heart of a Nephilim, unknown to its nature and the words it whispered into her mind day after day, Esha stirred to her potential as a sorcerer as the eyes on the inside of her mind opened to the power that rested within the black organ and how it could be utilized to her own ends and purposes.

Weirds

Conqueror’s Heart: The shape of life and perhaps the closest crystallization is nothing else but the lifeblood pumping through the veins of all that lives. The exact sum and balance of all it contains and provides being most essential to nourish craving flesh. Thus to hold dominion over it is to alter its composition or to deprive one of that valued essence carried in blood. It is a power that the Orphan holds, provided her own blood flows through the veins of her enemy. Depriving them of oxygen, thriving on their heat and nourishing her own flesh with what they possess. She can be even as cruel to allow it to coagulate till their heart pumps no more.

Chimerical Metamorphosis: Upon the transplantation of the Black Heart, Esha’s body did not reject it, or could not reject it. Instead the Black Heart made Esha’s flesh its own, leaving one to wonder how much of her mind is still truly hers. It is through the same process that Esha can claim the body parts of other beings and join them to her own. A lost leg can be replaced with a new one, even exotic limbs such as tails and other curiosities can be joined to her flesh. It is a painful process and demands adjustment, but it leaves one with the chance to shed the frail flesh of man.

Sanguine Surge: The orphan’s blood is much alike to a river, yet it is one that cannot be broken. Even ample sums of blood is spilled, it is not truly separated from her just yet. Instead it becomes an extension of herself, a gateway that can be traversed if one knows how, often confused for teleportation. Knowledge currently limited to only two. Blood mixed with her own also becomes another extension of herself, turning the battlefield ever more in her favour the more her opponent bleeds. Only when her blood coagulates does it cease to be a gate to leap through.

BLOOD AND BONE - THE NEPHILIM

Nephilim: Qarth
Sobriquets: The Sanguine Sovereign

Concept: Sovereign amongst primals, its pride only eclipsed by the searing heat of its blood.

Form: Gargantuan even by the standards of Nephilim, this colossus is most easily identified by the thick ivory exoskeleton surrounding its form and the almost feral bent to its anatomy despite standing on two digitigrade legs. Its bones resembling humans just enough to inspire a sensation of eeriness, for most of its shape takes on elaborate twists, some evoking particular patterns that might lead one to think it is its sarcophagus, while others weave in circular patterns. Amongst its armour-like bone numerous deep red black pupiled eyes can be spotted, ever vigilant. Amongst other gaps a bright fiery light spills from it, perhaps betraying its scorching interior. From its spine protrudes a series of thin bladed bones, some even interwoven with another to shape abnormal patterns. Beyond that, it possesses two arms ending in a pair of massive claws, joined by a pair of gargantuan eyes resting in its palms.

Crowned upon its body rests a massive elongated head, its ivory luster doing little to veil the many rows of thick fangs and bladed teeth, seeming always primed to go for the kill and potentially even beyond it, when its jaws part, a faint fiery light could be seen from within. A thick set of dark horns trail backwards, curving downwards before ending in pointed tips. Six slanted sockets lined its skull, coming in pairs of two with each possessing another deep red glowing eye within it. Its head crowned with a series of ink thick black tentacles, long enough to reach the middle of its back and in a way resembled a majestic mane. Yet those twisted appendages were far from regal, seeming to always gently sway and contort even when there is no exterior force to manipulate it. Another set of thick jet-black tentacles can be found at the lower end of its spine, considerably longer than its own body length, each of these eldritch appendages sway about in a way much reminiscent to that of a tail.

Despite its feral and primordial demeanor, an alien intelligence burns in its many-eyes, imbued with a deep cunning and complete understanding of its surroundings found only in beings of true sapience.

Abominations

Sanguine Spear: Countless eyes trail the form of Qarth, gazing and almost unblinking. Beyond providing near omnidirectional sight at all times, each eye can launch highly pressurized jets of blood from its sockets at enemies. Possessing the potential to cut through metal itself, it can be a powerful weapon to use but it comes at the cost of Qarth’s own blood.

Smouldering Wrath: Even in undeath, the Nephilim Qarth is still imbued with a roaring heat smouldering in the depths of its body. Allowing it to flare up to the temperature of its lifeblood to a feverish pitch, far surpassing the blood of mortals for where their blood turns to steam, the blood of the Sanguine Sovereign still continues to boil. A power that can be combined with Sanguine Spear to create even more lethal bursts or can alter the discharge of Sanguine Spear into a heated mist of blood, shrouding Qarth from sight and can potentially scald Nephilim and creatures not attuned to enduring such temperatures.

Sovereign’s Mandate: Blood is the ultimate expression of life, and through it Qarth can reshape the bodies it flows through, turning them into reflections of his own being as their bodies twist and contort to mirror Qarth. Engraving their minds with an unquestionable loyalty and reverence for Qarth, for it is from this power the Nephilim earned its moniker of the Sanguine Sovereign. Given the chance, it can turn legions of beasts to stand by its side. However, it is far from all-powerful as the speed at which the mind is overwritten varies on the level of sapience and the quantity of Qarth’s blood present within the body.

Ancient Appetite: Aeons of deathless slumber has left Qarth with a thirst for blood and flesh that could only be truly slaked by devouring one of its own. Lesser creatures may temporarily appease it, but its patience is far from eternal. If tested too far and presented with Nephilim, it may be cast into a frenzy till its hunger has been sated, one way or another.

[Tut tu ru]

The Twins Of The Mirror

HEART AND MIND - WHO YOU WERE BEFORE

Name: Rozar Repercutio, Rozana Repercutio
Sobriquets: The Man With The Mirror, The Woman In The Mirror

Concept: A pair of twins, clinging to each other even past death.

Origin: The Repercutios, pale-skinned and haughtily aristocratic, were never the most beloved of nobles. Perhaps it was their light, crow-like black hair and dusky hazel eyes that reminded people of graves and death, and most certainly they were as pale as it; or their quiet, calmly arrogant tones. Perhaps they had good reason to, for in secret, they practiced the foulest and most forbidden of arts; or perhaps it was because of it that they were driven to such ends. Their position as social pariahs had little effect on Rozar and Rozana's childhoods, though. They got along just fine with one another, and they had no interest in anyone other than one another, despite their differences. And they had differences - they were polar opposites, of course, Rozar preferring to peruse the family's library and spend his time wasting away on the keys, whilst Rozana gravitated towards the saddle and the sword. Only the fascinating forbidden fruit that was sorcery could draw Rozana's interest from the blade, just as how the only thing that coaxed Rozar from the library was a bedtime story with the ever-outdoors Rozana at his side.

It was a stormy night when a pair of witches knocked on the doors of the Repercutio manor. Rumors had abounded of their sorcerous ways; eventually, an investigation was called, though none dared pose a formal accusation. Sorcery was a treacherous game, however, and the adult Repercutios had played the game for a long, long time. After some investigation, the two witches left with the father and mother, misdirected into the town proper. But that would be their undoing. The hot-blooded youth amongst the townsfolk, already armed with suspicion and primed with superstition, saw this as more than enough reason to take up arms and storm the manor. Some believed their presence as an admission of guilt; others, as the chance to prove the Repercutio's unseemingly ways.

They stormed the manor. Some of the servants opened the door for them; others were killed on the spot. Rozana, ever bright, courageous like the burning sun, marshaled some of the more loyal servants alongside her teacher-in-arms, and mounted a stand against them. Rozar, however, had neither the courage nor the faith to make such a stand. After seeing convincing her would be a lost cause, he sought out the only thing he could use to help. Rozana's mirror, perhaps the only feminine item she possessed beyond her ball gowns, a beautiful piece that would be exorbitantly expensive even for other nobles. Inlaid with gold and jeweled with beautiful specs of stars, the family heirloom had a purpose beyond mere grooming. He saw himself in that beautiful mirror, and found himself lacking.

When he descended the stairs unto a field of newly born ghosts, the mob rebuffed but Rozana's lifeless body on the ground, there was only one thing in his mind; he wasn't ready to let her go. She was the only person who matters to him, after all. He reached out with the mirror, and sucked her in. He was seen, of course, his family ousted, but he didn't care. Her soul, so bright, so beautiful, overpowered the lesser things that sought a second chance. And when he looked for his reflection one more time, he saw an inversion of himself. Rozana would be with him, always. He wrapped up the mirror, the most valuable and twisted of his tomes, and as much money as he could carry. He heard the town erupt into terror. Would his parents survive? He didn't know. He couldn't risk it. He would have to escape, to leave where his name didn't carry. Away from the nation, if possible; he'd have to outrun word of his family's dark ways. He should be safe in the next nation, and if not there, the one after. He hoisted himself upon a horse - he was a bad rider, but that was fine.

He had Rozana to teach him.

Appearance: Rozar is a pale, tight-lipped man, with aristocratic features, a pronounced nose, hazel eyes and long black hair. He is effeminate, often being compared to his identical twin. He is not particularly large nor muscular, but he is healthy from a well-fed upbringing. He prefers to wear formal, expensive noble clothing whenever possible. Rozana is almost identical to him, described as masculine but beautiful nonetheless, her appearance eternally young, down to the light dash of lipstick she had when she was trapped. Some feminine features exist, from her longer lashes to the slight swell of her breasts, but they are a mirror of one another. She is an inversion of colors, however; her eyes a deep violet, her hair a ghostly white. She wore a male noble's clothing, as she would forever.


With the resources at their disposal, they have acquired a number of items to fit their fancy. Their heirloom mirror, still an expensive, elaborate piece of beauty lined with gold and jewels, has been given a pair of straps to wield as if a shield. Rozana's old longsword stays at his side, the gleaming blade always polished to a mirror sheen. His heavy rider's gloves have small mirrors, torn from an old handmirror, embedded into their backs. Across his belt lie many vials of glass; most empty, but some filled with a variety of substances, from water to mercury. An eclectic outfit, but not one difficult to explain by eccentricity and wealth.
Skills and Flaws

The Scholar: Rozar is well-learned, able to write and read, calculate finances and trained in courtly etiquette. While he hadn't much a chance to do so, he especially enjoys choreographing music and has read many stories.

The Warrior: While Rozar has little training in battle, Rozana is an expert warrior and horsewoman. She is trained in many noble weapons, and has only gotten better while confined in the mirror. She possesses a natural charisma that contrasts heavily from Rozar.

The Musician: Rozar is a master of the organ and piano, although he has had little opportunity to make use of it, being such an expensive and heavy instrument. Rozana is a proficient violinist, while little learned, having plenty of talent for the art.

The Clinging: To the twins, others have little importance in their lives. They grow nervous and unhinged when spent too long apart, and often, they miss cues, common social graces, and subtle meanings that others may intend.

Hooks:

• The ghosts of the past are hard to escape. What happened all those years ago, after Rozar fled? Were his parents victorious, and escaped themselves, perhaps searching for him even today? Had the witches won, and seek out the escaped Repercutio even today?
• Rozana deserves more, so much more. What was this wretched half-existence, only being in the confines of a gilded mirror? He would find a way to bring her back, to a truer life. One she deserves more than he.
• What is a soul?

SOUL - WHAT YOU ARE BENEATH THE SKIN

Initiation: Rozar's family was steeped in sorcery, and so is he. He learned the arts from youth, his soul pried open by his parents, taught in their ways by book and word. He was always a fast learner.

Weirds

The Realm Of The Mirror: Rozar and Rozana's powers lie over the realm of reflections. The mirror itself is a dangerous weapon for them; they may use any mirror to suck in objects into the Realm of the Mirror. While direct contact is required to enter the Mirror, where the Mirror is more akin to a pool and may admit objects larger than itself, Rozar can make the mirror create a vortex of air to suction in objects. The Realm of the Mirror itself is an unnatural, strange place, "empty" yet capable of holding things. Objects without magic or soul will eventually fade if not removed from the mirror; in a day, they will cease to exist if not removed from the Mirror Realm. Magic items may exist untouched, eternal within the realm. Raw magic that enters the mirror simply fizzles with no form to support it, and becomes a part of the Mirror Realm. Those with a soul leave behind whatever physical bodies they may have, and enter within. If the physical body dies, they will find themselves unable to leave, for most souls may only enter their own body. The twin outside of the mirror may eject any object or being inside the mirror at will, unless they are unable to leave. Only mirrors may be used for this purpose.

The Warrior In The Mirror: Rozana's existence is singularly unique. She may trade places with Rozar at any point, taking over his body and leaving Rozar in the mirror. Inside the mirror itself, she is a warrior-queen without compare; all the souls within follow her orders, and fight as her army. While they cannot leave, they will provide an almost insurmountable edge in any battle of souls within the Mirror, and function as her armor and sword. They are less willing to support Rozar, but will do so grudgingly. The twin inside the mirror may move between reflections at will, from polished bronze to clear lakes. The more malleable what they possess, the more they may control it; they may be able to twist water into a living golem, but glass would remain forever inert.

The Light From The Mirror: As they may possess reflective surfaces within the Mirror, so can they control them outside of it. Glass, mirror shards, polished steel, they are all telekinetically controllable by force of will alone. They may also manipulate the reflections they offer; amplifying light to blind, focusing it to laser points, reflecting completely without compromise, even if the subject is see-through like glass, or showing nothing in the reflection.

BLOOD AND BONE - THE NEPHILIM

Nephilim: Alzela
Sobriquets: The Hazy Marionette

Concept: A marionette-statue that is alive yet not, controlled by a mysterious halo.

Form: A giant statue, its skin is as smooth stone with no blood to give, yet it moves as if muscle. It is modeled after a human, beautifully cut, yet with six arms and gaping holes where a head or heart may be. Instead of legs, it only possesses flowing robes that fade into mist as they touch the ground, floating just above the earth. A halo of simple light hovers just above where its head would be, illuminating the world.


Abominations

Gleaming Halo Alit: The halo of dull light suspended above Alzela is its true self. From it, Alzela may "see" all which its light touches, and its body has no need for organs. It is as an immovable object, always moving as it wishes, never forced by others - unless they move which it rests upon.

Aspects Taken Upon: The twin who commands Alzela shapes its light in a different way. When Rozar controls, the halo dims in strength. Instead, a gleaming sun forms where its heart should be, forming a powerful spotlight in front and behind it, a representation of his perfectionist, insular nature. When Rozana leads, the halo simply intensifies, a bright sea of light. She may take from this light to forge gleaming weapons of solid light that burn what they touch.

Light Cleanses So: When Alzela's light is reflected or refracted, Alzela gains control over whatever is reflecting or refracting its light, becoming able to manipulate it at will. Under Rozar, the light in its "heart" may intensify into a scorching ray.

Earth Corrupts Not: Alzela cannot move vertically. It always stays hovering slightly above whatever it is "standing" upon - it cannot jump, fly, nor dive into water, simply hover above it. It cannot press itself unto the ground in where it "stands." It simply exists, suspended slightly above the earth.

[Redward]

Amaranthe

HEART AND MIND - WHO YOU WERE BEFORE

Name: Korine Amaranthe
Sobriquets: The Blacktongue

Concept: A ceaseless hunger, wrapped in a tenuous identity. Being Twice Damned has done Amaranthe no favors, but made more prevalent the illness in her nature. Exile will only see her grow more contemptuous.

Origin: A question that haunts Korine ceaselessly. Unaware of her absence from the world, it is but one of many gaps in her memory. While she sees herself as an Elatreisi serving-girl who was burned under suspicion of stargazing, the truth may be something entirely different. Regardless, that is what has cemented itself in her. She can still taste the culling of her youth, vibrancy snuffed out by reaching flame, uncertain as to how she escaped.

That life, when the fragments are arranged, was an uneventful one. Tending to dusty libraries and the whims of a godly man. Her glaring hatred may have first spread seeds during those years. If pressed, Korine can recount herself being bartered for as her earliest memory. Her last pure, screaming pain; contorted countenances dancing and giving praise as she was flayed.

Appearance:

[+]

Skills and Flaws

Guarded Smile: Korine knows well the machinations of man. Their lies and wiles. She has adopted them as her own, capable of controlling the seething beneath to present herself as a reasonable and, at times, charming girl. Favoring a wide smile and open eyes, Amaranthe will give herself to the facade if it benefits her to do so.

Hidden Blade: Preferring more personal conflicts, she is an artist with a dagger. More often than not Korine will strike from an advantageous position; utilizing an intimate knowledge of human weaknesses to quickly end a conflict.

Cruel Tongue: A practiced poisoner, Amaranthe believes that tainted blood serves as well as clean. She has spent a fair amount of time learning the practical effects of various toxins, both on herself and the various subjects. Pain is her forte, though Korine has a vested interest in doses that numb the body and leave the mind fumbling.

Cracked Vessel: Despite all of her posturing and positioning, Korine is unstable. She seethes and spits and rages, when things stray from the path chosen. It is in these moments that she reveals herself, screaming and brandishing all the force at her disposal against the object of her ire.

Beyond this, it is hunger. She seeks deeper knowledge and greater power, greater influence and ever, always, is she looking for more. This, in itself, is damning; driving her forward with little regard for the well-being of herself or those around her. This hunger has given birth to arrogant musings, blurring and obliterating the lines that would fetter her mind.

Hooks:

• Is the reality anything like the dream?
• Can I become more? This frail form poorly suits the grandeur of my desires.
• If men can eat the flesh of Angels, what is the taste of God's own struggling viscera? The stars, too, arouse a lust in me...

SOUL - WHAT YOU ARE BENEATH THE SKIN

Initiation: Amaranthe came into her exile as a Sorcerer. She does not comprehend this, however. Reconciling the gaps in her memory, she believes herself to have been a practitioner for some time; owing her status solely to her own willpower.

Weirds

Choir of Disdain: Shedding her blood on raw earth makes the soil sick and wrathful. Groaning punctuates the air as warped facsimiles of the human form begin emerging. Screaming always ensues, a mix of cruel elation and despair unending. While the constructs are rickety, they are receptive to Korine's commands and surprisingly dexterous.

If performed under starlight, the result is somewhat different. Instead of multiple wailing constructs, one whispering archon is formed. This thing is sturdier than its day-stained counterparts and does not share their penchant for wildly diffusing noise. Instead it mimics Korine's own words as she speaks them, serving as messenger; whatever grim task that may entail.

If not given commands, the daylight constructs will simply amble without aim until disturbed; when they will attack. The night archon cannot function without instruction and will simply follow Amaranthe, serving as guard until a task is assigned to it. She has no direct connection to the dolls, but can feel when they are destroyed.

Retching Desire: To consume is to know and learning has its own price. While her bite is imbued with potent poison and an uncanny sharpness, tasting of human flesh will elicit a dark, excited stupor from Amaranthe. This impaired state imparts flashes of knowledge gained from the dire act, presented in the form of stolen memories, but passes quickly and leaves little retained.

She will begin vomiting approximately half an hour after the initial bite is taken; paling and beginning to shake as the physical effects fade. During her brief minutes of recovery, Amaranthe is unfocused and detached.

Obsessive Shroud: Shadows have a love for Amaranthe, clinging to her tightly as she passes by. Returning their embrace, she can become as one of them. While this does not completely obfuscate her, it dulls her presence in the Known World. Searching eyes may pass over her without recognition. A keen nose may falter, finding the end of her trail at an odd place. Familiar ears may find her voice a foreign caress.

BLOOD AND BONE - THE NEPHILIM

Nephilim: Nalzhacta
Sobriquets: Grinning Chrysalis

Concept: Twisted in unacceptable defeat, pride seeks sanguine reprisal.

Form:

[+]

Abominations

Consuming Contrast: During the day Nalzhacta gleams and glints, all pristine angles and spread wings. At night it drinks starlight, folding back the wings so proudly displayed, seething with contempt. Regardless of the time, it carries the taint of that which came before; capable of forming the stored energies into tangible implements.

Sunlight is forged into an aegis, casting scathing beams from the center of a solidified disc. Umbrage becomes an empty orb, pulsing and reaching out with spikes and undulating tendrils. One cannot exist while the other does.

Predatory Pride: A warrior by nature, an artisan by exterion. Nalzhacta revels in physical strife, presenting strength and grace belied by its delicate frame. More than the struggle, though, is the outcome. Emboldened by the prospect of victory, the Nephilim releases a distorting warcry; imposing madness on unguarded minds and presenting tactile pressure to those in its immediate vicinity.

This roar carries enough force to push aggressors back, rattling earth and painting the stage with malice. Hues of hazy red pulse outward, growing more dim and finally dispersing as it moves. The farther one is from the source, the lesser the effect.

Tempestuous Contempt: Wind bends to the will of this Nephilim, creating gusts and gales with a flex of its wings. Incredibly quick, Nalzhacta moves with grace and brutal intent. Creating currents to propel itself with greater accuracy is its usual utilization; though there exists the potential for more offensive use. A trio of tornadoes dance around the battlefield, when the Nephilim's full wrath is stoked.

Delicate Destroyer: Nalzhacta is a thing of relatively frail composition. Despite being quick and vicious, there is a soft flexibility to its sarcophagus. While movement is fluid, once stopped the Nephilim is vulnerable.

[Oraculum]

Prabhalocta Dhaumir

HEART AND MIND - WHO YOU WERE BEFORE

Name: Prabhalocta Dhaumir
Sobriquets: The Night-Ghoul

Concept: A morbid truant twice touched by fell forces, scarred by greed and driven by fear.

Origin: The land Prabha once called home was, while not as splendid as Yachiel, blessed with peace and prosperity. It was far enough from the Edge of the World not to be beset by its monstrous denizens, and, while it had once been steeped in the shadow of mighty sorcerers, dreaded and revered as figures of myth, men and gods had slowly encroached upon it and driven away its dark masters. Some roving fae and spirits were rumoured to still haunt the woods, but none had seen them in decades. The people of its fields and hills were, for the most part, bold and industrious, and did not let themselves be frightened by old tales.

But every fold has a prodigal son. Born among commoners, Prabhalocta was never content with his station. He listened with secret longing to the hushed legends of the olden sorcerers, and, rather than heed their cautionary moral, envied the awe these necromancers were said to inspire into their thralls. Often he would swear to himself that he would one day become as mighty as them, whether as a lord or even a king of the land. And, though his lineage was humble, he did not lack determination. First, he tried the way of wealth. He did not have the patience to follow it honestly, and kept company with deceit and subterfuge. As a merchant, he sought to buy cheaply and sell dearly, and did not disdain any treachery in doing so. When his ill-gotten gains did not satisfy him, he gave himself to gambling, and when he became shunned even among the rabble, his skill with mimicry and disguise came to his aid. He posed as a saintly pilgrim, a corrupt magistrate, even a druid collecting the offerings for his god. These escapades bore good fruit, but, after narrowly avoiding the gallows one time too many, Prabha decided to abandon this path.

In his avarice, he came to tread one more perilous still. One night, he ventured into a forlorn wood where the savage fae were said to gather. What transpired there, no one knows, but, when he walked out from among the trees the day after, he had a wild light in his eyes and wielded terrible witchcraft. For a year from then, the entire land came to dread his ravages. He preyed upon any he could catch outside the reach of their gods, and delighted in tormenting them as would an evil spirit. Seized by a fiendish glee, he prided himself of having surpassed the ancient sorcerers themselves.

Yet, as time went by, he fell himself prey to terror. He had been given power in exchange for a promise of which he had then thought lightly, but which returned to haunt him more and more often. Any day now, the fae would come to claim their due, and what could a reviled marauder give them? Nor was this his only concern - the people of the land had grown weary of his vexations, and had begun to set out on their own hunts. In desperation, Prabha turned to the legends whose perverse temptation had led him to that point. The sorcerers were long gone, but perhaps their power lingered. He went to find it in their forsaken abodes, and once more the night transformed him, this time forever. The morning found his eyes dull, but manifold.

Not long afterwards, golden clouds began to gather on the horizon, and armies to march through the once peaceful fields. Knowing that, whether the Circle of Light triumphed or was repelled, his life there was forfeit, Prabha slipped away into the shadows while he still could. Elatreis was not far, and in a city as great as Silver Spear he could disappear long enough to plot his next move. Besides, he had been dreaming of it since his third eye had opened...

Appearance: As is becoming of someone who has worn many a visage, Prabha seems to disappear when out of his disguises. He is neither tall nor short, neither dark nor fair, and his round, amiable face and short dark beard can become lost among the hundreds of a crowd faster than one can blink, though, if one looks closely, his cold, empty eyes can give one pause. Until recently, his shaven head completed the impression, but of late he has taken to wearing a turban to cover the large blue eye with a snake-like pupil that sits in the middle of his forehead. His gait is cautious and his tones hushed and conspiratorial, though he seems to take pains to conceal this.

Skills and Flaws

Quick Words, Quick Hands: Everyone struggles to live, but not everyone struggles equally. Over his life, Prabha has perfected the craft of taking much and giving little: an improvised tale to dupe a fool out of his coin, a deft nudge to the bones at the gambling table, the right amount of praise to adorn the meagre wares he peddles. And, above all, never dropping the mask of trustworthiness, or at least credibility.

Cutthroat’s Wiles: As a combatant, Prabha is neither talented nor skilled. Seeking, as in everything, an easy solution, he prefers to compensate with what he calls resourcefulness and others base tricks. From dirt in the eyes to knives in the back, nothing is beneath him when survival is concerned.

Man of Many Faces: Ever since his childhood, Prabha displayed an uncanny gift for disguising his features, voice and mannerisms, and this has served him well to this day. As occasion required, he has been a soldier, a beggar, a noble, a druid, a beast, a spirit, and someone who is ostensibly not a sorcerer. With but some rags and stolen clothes, he can become any of these and more yet at any moment.

The Unrelenting Beast: It was fear that drove Prabha down the path of sorcery. Fear hounds him still wherever he goes. He dreads the nameless being in whose debt he is, the wrath of God and her heralds, the spirits with whom he deals, the old gods and their followers, the visions that haunt him and the death he so relished inflicting on others. Ironically, this fear can drive him to reckless acts, for he will seize at anything that seems to offer freedom from its clutches.

Hooks:

• Prabha once struck a bargain with a fey. He never kept his end, nor does he intend to.
• There is only one thing worth seeking, and that is power that strikes fear into all, God and man alike.
• Ancient, forgotten things are sunken in the Sea of Dead Stars. They are terrible, yet they have a strange lure.

SOUL - WHAT YOU ARE BENEATH THE SKIN

Initiation: When Prabha came to the ruined haunt of an infamous vanished sorcerer, he sat outside it and listened to the stars, as the necromancer was said to have done. Though he had little hope of succeeding, he thought he heard the distant tones of a dream-song, and persevered. It seemed to him that the truth he sought - for it was, he now understood, a truth - was just before him. He reached for it, but time and again, the truth eluded him.

The stars did not answer, but something else did. All he recalls is a shape cloaked in darkness deeper than the night, bearing the pain of revelation in its hand. It hurled him into oblivion, and it was long before his three eyes opened. He saw what he had been pursuing, and was more afraid than he had ever been before.

Weirds

Loathsome Conquerors: At Prabha’s call, motes of translucent blue fog arise out of the ground and coalesce into the forms of four monstrous worms. They have mouths like lampreys, are each twice as long as a man’s arm, and, though they appear dim and wraith-like, their swollen bodies are as strong as iron chains. The spectral worms obey their master’s bidding, and can hear his whispers wherever they might be, but they are clumsy and dull, and, though robust, can be slain by mortal weapons. They are also gluttons after carrion.

Nightfall: Prabha can conjure up a cloud of thick inky mist, which crawls and seeps through the air in strange forms like a viscous, living darkness. Those caught within it are beset by horrifying sounds and hallucinations, which seem as though horrors as dire as their own mind can paint them are lurking just out of sight, ready to pounce on them. The fainter of heart may well be driven mad by the experience, and any who have breathed long and deeply enough of the black vapours will be plagued by nightmares and echoes of the illusions for a few days.

Baleful Gaze: The third eye carved into Prabha’s forehead sees visions of death and putrescence so terrible that the world itself withers when they are projected onto it. When it is fully opened, it radiates a chilling, sinister light. Dead wood and flesh touched by it rot, metal grows dull and rusted, and plants and small animals are stricken with a wasting blight. Men and greater beasts will not suffer such afflictions unless they are already debilitated, but will find themselves paralysed in fear and unable even to think if their own gaze is caught by that of the unnatural orb.

BLOOD AND BONE - THE NEPHILIM

Nephilim: Tide of Day’s Undoing
Sobriquets: None. The Tide is the Tide.

Concept: Vast of wit and cunning, yet a thrall to primal hunger.

Form: A towering, foetid mass of animate slime, the Tide has no single shape to define it. Its gelatinous body flows, shifts and ripples constantly, crawling and pouring like a river as it moves and rising and ebbing like a monstrous fountain when it stands still. The pitch-black sludge is run through with veins of cyan, which sometimes seem to twist and intertwine in strangely meaningful patterns, and, now and then, a few great burning eyes will open in the amorphous giant, only to be submerged by new waves and spouts. The fragments of its broken sarcophagus cling to its surface, never remaining in the same spot for more than a moment.

Abominations

Anathema of the Earth: Wherever the abhorrent mass of the Tide touches the soil, whether it be swampy or arid, the latter is transformed into a vile, clinging fluid, only slightly thicker than the black ooze itself. Only stone and rock can resist this corruption, and mires and puddles follow the Nephilim wherever it goes like the trail of a colossal slug. The creature can put the liquefied ground to a variety of uses, such as fashioning bludgeons and projectiles out of it, or even submerge into it entirely and swim through the earth for brief tracts, bursting to the surface where its foes least expect it.

Breathe in Life: Having no discernible organs of any sort, the Tide breathes through the entirety of its body. As it inhales, it can draw in air with such strength as to raise hurricane winds that converge upon it, strong enough to uproot trees, topple houses and lift man and beast from the ground. For as long as the Nephilim draws breath, and on such occasions this can last for several minutes, these howling streams of air will carry any unfortunate enough to be caught in them towards it to be consumed in its formless maw.

Breathe out Death: Those who, by some miracle, have been spared by the Tide’s drawing in all that surrounds it should not rejoice too soon. Its breath is a twofold weapon, wreaking ruin whichever way it blows. When it exhales, the monstrosity can spew out clouds of noxious smoke, coating itself in them or spreading them upon the wind. These fumes corrode all living matter they touch, turning flesh and bone into ghastly puddles within seconds and tainting the earth where they sink into it.

Deep Waters Run Low: While the Tide’s oozing body is tremendously flexible and agile, it is far weaker and less resilient that the solid bulk of other Nephilim. It cannot lift weights that would be trivial for them, and, while it is not by much easier to injure for its yielding consistency, it affords little protection to its master should it be struck by a direct blow while he is within it.

[Mammon]

Rapture Blackvex

“A man who casts no shadow has no soul.”

HEART AND MIND

Name: Rapture Blackvex
Sobriquets: The Warhound

Concept: Vengeful chronicler and strategist with a penchant for fire and shadow.

"Immolate thyself in mindless abandonment. Let thy mind divorce itself from thy flesh and thy bones, and let thine eyes glare unto the infinite emptiness. Empty thyself of all save the quenchless lust for the unknown, and become one with that inexpressible void which lies just beyond the vast wasteland of the desert of the human mind."

Origin:

“Any brutal soul may fight if he has the goal ahead of him. They fought knowing that our truest purpose lay behind them, and all that remains is faithfulness to an extinguished vision.”

Rapture Blackvex once served as the royal chronicler for the kingdom of Kolyria. Having access to the historical records better equipped him for analytical and tactical work, and he soon found himself serving as a martial advisor to the Kolyrian generals. Kolyria was one of the first nations to war against the Circle of Light, and Rapture was integral in devising their strategy against the armies of God. As the war raged on, Kolyrian forces lured the holy men deep into their territory, starving the lands around them. Rapture prepared to mount a ‘hammer and anvil’ maneuver with his calvary, but as they were about to make contact with the rear, an angel of God removed Rapture’s men from this world.

It was as if the clouds parted and a second sun shown in the sky. The being was too radiant to look at, and it descended with all the grace and splendor of a being of heaven. His men shielded their eyes. Their horses reared and balked against them. Sounds of Kolyrian victory fell silent, and the vision of every man fell upon the hand of God. The angel raised his glowing staves, face veiled in luster. Blinding white light enveloped the battlefield. The brilliance erased everything--even the shrieks of death. When his sight returned, abjection struck Blackvex like a lance to the gut. All that remained of his men were the outlines of where they fell, their steeds stinking, cooked in the heat of the light--thousands of souls extinguished with the wave of a hand.

Rapture escaped and fled his fallen nation before he could be captured or executed. He sought refuge in the surrounding kingdoms, finally settling in Elatreis. He made a modest living as a scribe and historian but vengeance burned in his heart. Blackvex heard rumors of a mystic that promised power living outside the walls of Silver Spear; he took his earnings and struck out for her. In exchange for his gold and his writings, she gave him a cursed ring. Upon wearing it, barbs dug into the flesh of his finger, making it impossible to remove. The ring contained the souls of a thousand, which whisper in his ears. Their wrath burns away at the world and at his spirit, granting him sorcerery and sparking fire.

Pain seized along his hand and shot up his arm. Beads of blood formed along the ring, oozing from the new wound and running down his finger. Visions of a wraith-like fire overtook his mind, serpentine and undulating with heat and destruction. Hatred burned away at his being, gnawed at the edges of his psyche, and threatened to melt away his past. His vengeance became their vengeance, and their animosity became his animosity. He awoke cloaked in a dark fire--shadowy, turquoise embers that stung his flesh and immolated the ground beneath him, but he did not burn.

Appearance:

A Vision from the Flames

Rapture Blackvex was once an imposing figure--tall, tanned, and toned. His years of service had given him lean, wiry muscle. A slim, gaunt face gave way to a lofty, peaked hairline. His nose was long and narrow, coming to a pinched and dignified tip. Thin lips and brows remained in a perpetual grimace of contemplation. Now beneath his bone-colored mask and shadowy cloaks, however, was a patchwork of scars and heat-blistered skin. He hides himself under a veil of dark cloth, not showing a single inch of skin.

Skills and Flaws

Scribe: Rapture is literate, fluent in the written and verbal languages of Kolyria and the surrounding nations. He understands cartography and maps. He has extensive knowledge of history--especially military--and is key to use it to his advantage.

Martial Prowess: His years serving in the Royal Army of Kolyria honed his skills with the longsword and dagger. He is proficient in blade, hand-to-hand, and mounted combat. Rapture’s will to win makes him particularly ruthless in these endeavors.

Tactician: His experience as an advisor to war generals gives him insight to the battlefield, as well as military strategy and history. He is a blooded soldier and veteran, and is not one to lose his nerve in battle.

Vexing Flames: He is prone to fits of rage and destruction, each time pushing him closer and closer to madness--each time closer and closer to losing himself.

Hooks:

• He is driven by the loss of his men, his nation, his reputation, and possibly his self. Rapture refuses to allow himself into another similar situation, and permits his paranoia to run deep. The loss of his comrades is a loss of himself; he will protect them at any cost--or at least ensure their deaths are not in vain.
• Blackvex not only seeks retribution for his country against the God and her men, but redemption for himself. He idolizes a world where he can move beyond the failures of his past, and a world where beings can no longer threaten entire populations with a flick of their wrist.
• Dichotomies of Light/Shadow, History/Present, and Destruction/Rebirth

SOUL

Initiation: He received a ring of souls from a mystic peddler, which grant him sorcerery and cannot be removed.

In his sleep he sees the dark fire--the void calls out to him. The weight of a thousand souls bears upon his shoulders. Their voices gnaw at the back of his consciousness; their fingers claw into his mind--scratching. The souls trapped inside the ring whisper to him. Most of the time he cannot make out what they say, but sometimes words break through, echoing within him: “Burn it. Burn it all.”

Weirds

Blackflame: Rapture has the ability to conjure forth and control dark flames. His own fire cannot wound him.

Thick, acrid smoke blotted out the stars. Waves of heat radiated from the flames, distorting the air around them. Though the fire burned hotter than molten steel, it gave off no light. It danced from his fingertips and burned away anything it touched--the fire ate through flesh and bone, wood and metal, earth and water all alike. Its hunger knew no bounds; it could not be sated or quenched, save only from the whims of its culling master.

Whispers of the Dead: His ring of souls can commune with him in times of quiet, of desperation, or of rage. They whisper to him their secrets and breathe in the ashes of the dead, adding to their numbers.

The man stared at his hand in horror as it crumbled away to soot and vapor. He tried in vain to smother the flame that raced up his body, boiling his blood and searing his nerves. Screams of pain and terror pierced the air before rasping away to wind and ashes. Rapture breathed in the smell of charred flesh and burnt fat. “I will wear your ghost, and you will serve twice: against me and for me.”

The Purity of Fire: He can burn away nearly anything for a dark cost--the tangible, the incorporeal, the imagined--leaving only the pure.

Poison coursed through his veins, searing along Rapture’s nerves and sending spasms of pain along his body. From the wound oozed a thick, green serum--a toxin crafted to kill even the largest foe. It smelled of sickness and plague. The stench was synthetic and vile, like petroleum and miasma. The Warhound clutch his hand over the wound, and teal flames spurted from his palm. It wreathed him in a teal darkness. The fire grew, self-immolating his body. The toxin boiled in his veins. Impurities vaporized and seeped through his pores as steam. Beneath his mask, his smiled.

BLOOD AND BONE

Nephilim: Ihægahn

Sobriquets: Skygge

Concept: Hardened abyssal shadow

Form:

A Vision from the Darkness

The umbral void condensed; it grew skeletal bones as hard as stone, with ghostly penumbra churning in Ihægahn's gut. The shadows flitted wildly among themselves, swirling as ink in water into a hideous form. Fangs gnashed from the darkness. Cerulean oculi sprouted along its form, glowing with an ominous phosphorescence in the darkness. Salient spines coagulated along the spine of the Nephilim--sharp and fearful. Unnatural darkness bubbled throughout its body. Twilight grew, and with it, so did the loathsome automaton. The void shuddered and let out a chilling cry.

Abominations

Umbrakinesis: Skygge can coalesce shadows into a lashing or bludgeoning weapon, launch them like arrows at an offending target, or change its own form.

Shadows pooled from the ground, from the trees, from the sky. Abyssal darkness congealed into a weapon from Ihægahn’s black mouth: a long, serrated javelin protruded from its throat. A flash of azure magic exploded from within the Nephilim, and the harpoon launched outward. Shade writhed beneath the beastly automaton. The void grew, sprouting thrashing, barbed, and dark whips from its amorphous body. They flailed, cracking through trees and buildings as if they were brittle glass.

Voidal Maw: The Nephilim unhinges its terrible jaw, consuming incoming projectiles or spells.

The sound of cracking bone and tearing flesh echoed from Skygge as its lupine jowl detached, allowing the necromantic vehicle to open its gaping orifice beyond the natural limit. It exposed rows of jagged, crushing teeth along its jaw and throat. A gruesome howl rose from within it. The flurry of arrows launched against the beastly, undead creature flew into the void--their poisoned tips disappearing harmlessly into the abject vacuum of its mouth. With a hideous laughter, the Nephilim turned its ire against the archers.

Shadewalker: Can teleport to another shadow within visual range, or hide within them.

Like ink poured into water, the Nephilim melted away into the dappled shadows of the jungle. For an instant, it was incorporeal--the hardened abysm of its being dispersing and reforming on the other side of the Beast. Quickly, it launched a volley of spears before disappearing, only to coalesce on the opposite flank, repeating the umbrakinetic assault. The Beast turned and raised a clawed hand to crush Ihægahn, but it flowed safely away out of range. With the hiss of a banshee, it raised its barbed spines. Darkness rushed to the automaton, and a grotesque spike rose from its spine. It teleported beneath the soft underbelly of the Beast, ramming the shadowy lance deep into enemy.

Gloom Genesis: Can conjure and place fields of thick, corporeal shadow, reducing enemy vision and movement.

Even in the pitch of night, the dark voidal fields created by the Nephilim were supernaturally lightless. The abyssal shadow was deep, opaque, and viscous. The pockets of blackness were an extension of Ihægahn's being, and the doomed soldiers that had been unfortunate enough to wander inside of them smothered in its essence. They crawled through the sludge of his umbrage like cattle through a swamp, blinded and terrified. From the murky shade came the Nephilim’s hungry mouth, devouring.

Luminous Curse: In daylight or bright light, Skygge is weakened. It suffers decreased mobility, range, and damage. Objects of pure light cannot be blocked.

An ear-piercing shriek escaped from the undead monstrosity, curdling the air and the blood of all those who heard it. Daylight scorched its skin and withered its body, leaving the Nephilim weak and vulnerable. Without the cover of night or of shadows, it was left dangerously open. A brilliant halberd lanced its side, wielded by a holy warrior from the Circle of Light. The dark automaton shuddered, howling out in pain. Arrows embedded into its side during its moment of weakness, and the sorceress who piloted the mighty Nephilim was struck in the throat. Unmanned, Ihægahn dissipated, fleeing to the tiny shade cast by foot soldiers, before escaping wildly.