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E D G A R M A R L O W E



"We must all make sacrifices for the good of our family."

[ ♚ ] N A M E
Prince Edgar Kazimir Marlowe of Sikth

[ ♚ ] A G E
13

[ ♚ ] G E N D E R
Male

[ ♚ ] I D E N T I T Y
Aladori

[ ♚ ] A P P E A R A N C E
While the men of House Marlowe are of a strong and sturdy stock, Edgar is a slight and sickly boy. Short even among Aladori boys his age, given his slim figure, gentle features, and mop of dark hair, he is sometimes mistaken for a girl at a distance. Edgar's eyes are often distant and sullen; deep and dark, swirling with his many thoughts and contemplations. Thick cloaks and furs are his usual attire, as Sikth is cold and damp many months of the year. Though he is far from a warrior, he also often wears ceremonial armor, as is tradition in his household. As he is somewhat weak in the body, this is usually limited to a light, ornate breastplate worn over his tunics.

[ ♚ ] P E R S O N A L I T Y
Edgar Marlowe is said by some to be much like his homeland of Sikth, itself. Mostly cold, frequently dour, melancholic even when the sun is shining. Usually silent, but without a sense of peacefulness. An eeriness that suggests something darker at work. Most are content to ignore the small, strange prince as he skulks about, and Edgar does not mind. He simply watches, and remembers, and continues his business. He is difficult to speak to, as he is a poor conversationalist, and often stutters and mumbles and tries to avoid attention. Few people take him seriously due to his perceived lack of confidence; Edgar is all too aware of this. He is content to be an outside observer, with his thoughts and actions ignored by those he observes.

[ ♚ ] C H I L D H O O D
Edgar was the fifth-born son to the Queen Regent of House Marlowe, and her husband, a third-born prince of House Taake. Though their homeland of Sikth is somewhat small and sparsely populated, House Marlowe is known for more than mere political power. A legendary martial tradition, reaching back hundreds of years, thrives in Ravenhook. After centuries of fending off monsters great and small, the warriors of House Marlowe are considered some of the mightiest in the entire Imperium. The Dark Knights of Sikth are known and feared far and wide as a small but terrifyingly elite force. It is the proud and solemn tradition of House Marlowe to lead and maintain these fearsome soldiers, and as such, the house's nobles are often great fighters in their own right.

This is not the case for Edgar. Alway a scrawny, sickly child, Edgar fared poorly in in the dank, cold land of Sikth. Rather than run and play with his brothers in the gardens of Ravenhook, he stayed cooped up in his nursery, being read to by his wet nurse or reading himself when he able. As much as his parents thought he would, Edgar's health never improved much beyond "tolerable," and he had no desire to venture out into the Steelpines. It was not out of fear of the timberwolves or woodspiders; he simply had no desire to leave the castle. As his brothers took up the sword and spent long hours training with their wizened instructors, Edgar wiled away his hours in the archives and libraries deep in the bowels of Ravenhook.

Edgar's elder brothers were eventually granted such authority as duchies or military command, but no such gifts were given to young Edgar. His family was not fond of him, nor his strange habits. The Queen herself sometimes joked that Edgar was a changeling that had been left in the crib in place of her real son. They did not spite him or subject him to abuse, but they did ignore him, as they were content to pretend that he was simply not there. As far as they knew, House Marlowe had four strong sons, and that was all there was to know. Edgar often obliged them, himself happy to be left alone, but that did not mean he strayed far. He skulked through Ravenhook like a ghost, listening to what others did not want heard, and remembering what others did not what remembered.

[ ♚ ] M O T I V E S
Edgar's mother eventually became quite ill at ease with her youngest son moping about the castle. Though she would never admit it, he frankly unnerved her, with his deep, dark eyes, always watching. With the hopes that he would eventually be seneschal to one of his elder brothers, Edgar was sent away to the Conclave, where he would be put to better use, and less of a strain on the Queen's sanity.

[ ♚ ] C R E D E N T I A L S


Diplomacy: While Edgar is well-read and has a wide vocabulary, he is frankly very socially awkward, and is ill-suited for diplomacy in his current state.

Faith: A child unremarkable for his piety from a family equally unremarkable for their piety. Edgar has some interest in the pagan religions that preceded the advent of the Imperium, but not out of anything more than historical curiosity.

Intrigue: Like a magpie, Edgar is quite good at finding himself where he is unwanted, and hearing things that others don't want heard. He keeps his image as a sullen, misbegotten child, as it suits him to be ignored and considered nonthreatening. Edgar doesn't much know what he will do with all he knows and all he hears, but he is sure that they will someday serve him well.

Magic: As famed monster hunters, House Marlowe considers magic to be an evil, inhuman craft, and shuns and persecutes magic users within Sikth. Edgar, however, is intrigued by the idea of magic, and is eager to learn it now that he is free from the restraints of his family's prejudices.

Martial: Edgar has lifted a sword perhaps twice in his life. As much as one would expect a prince from the homeland of the legendary Dark Knights to be a tremendous warrior, Edgar nowhere resembles his family's reputation in that respect.

Stewardship: While he is a smart boy, and would be good with finances, they simply don't interest Edgar. He considers money to be too predictable, and more of a means than an end.

[ ♚ ] C O M P A N I O N S

Ser Sammael: A sworn knight of the Raven Guard, the order of Dark Knights assigned to the protection of House Marlowe. Ser Sammael is the oldest veteran among the Raven Guard, an aged soldier with hair white as snow. While still one of the most elite and experienced soldiers in the Imperium, Sammael's best days are behind him, and he cannot keep up with many of the younger knights. He was assigned as Edgar's sworn sword for the duration of his attendance of the Conclave. While he has not been told, House Marlowe plans for this to be his final task before he is retired (whether he wishes to retire or not).

Elisa: Edgar's servant, a plain girl of 16 years. Yet unmarried, she was chosen to accompany and attend to Edgar during his attendance of the Conclave. This long span of time away from home was accepted with the promised compensation of a favorable marriage to follow her return to Ravenhook. Elisa is the daughter of the servant that wet nursed Edgar during his long and troubled infancy, and while the two are not close, they have known each other all of Edgar's life.

Luther: Edgar's pet raven. While it is a common sport for men of House Marlowe to train falcons for hunting, it is far less common for them to keep other sorts of birds as pets. Edgar's eccentricity was accepted, given that the raven is the heraldic animal of House Marlowe. Luther is a clever little beast, which Edgar has trained to snatch up such things as coins and spectacles, and knows about twenty words.

[ ♚ ] R E L A T I O N S
TBA
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WIP, greatly.

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"Fear is doubt. Doubt is failure. Failure is death."
EPITAPH LXIX
17 | 2 December | 175 cm | First Class


appearance.
Epitaph is an unusual, almost pitiful creature to behold. His figure is sickly- almost skeletal -with pallid skin pulled taut over sinewy muscles and emaciated bones. Scars from lasers, bullets and blades stretch across his disfigured form like a grotesque, intricate design. Epitaph's features are thin and hollow, with dark, deep-set eyes and a seemingly permanent grimace. His hair, turned silver prematurely, is kept so short that it is barely a light dusting on his head.

In regards to dress sense, Epitaph is strictly utilitarian. Black physical training clothes and running shoes are worn when not in uniform, and when on sortie, Epitaph wears a form-fitting black sneaking suit with a matching tactical harness. A relic of his days as a SCION, the pure black of Epitaph's form is broken by the stark white of his skull-shaped armored mask, and the piercing red glow of the mask's optical sensors.

personality.
Epitaph is an emotionally void, socially crippled shell of a human being. Since he could speak he has been conditioned to excise all emotions and empathy, and he has been deprived of any meaningful human relationships. He wanders through life as though traveling through a mist, and people are nothing more than shadows in the fog. While this was sufficient as a SCION, in Epitaph's new lifestyle his lack of social and emotional development leaves him upset and frustrated more often than not, as he grapples with feelings that he does not understand. While his training at Fort Lullin went a fair ways at providing him with the basic social skills that he lacked, he is still incredibly inept at human interaction. Bereft of understanding most gain in their developmental years, Epitaph meets complex concepts such as love and humor with a mix of curiosity and trepidation, and when sufficiently perplexed sometimes reverts to hostility.

biography/background.
Unknown but to few, SOLDIER was not the only program created by Dalmastice to produce elite soldiers, and strike fear into the hearts of their enemies. Concurrent with the first generation of the SOLDIER program was its rival, known as SCION. Rather than utilizing gene therapy, SCION focused on strict mental and physical conditioning on candidates less than five years old. The end goal of the SCION program was to produce elite operatives capable of infiltrating and dismantling enemy command structures and critical facilities.

SCION drew its candidates from orphans under government custody. Given the relative lack of candidates (most children had already aged out of the window of candidacy), SCION could not afford to be choosy about its selections. As a result of this, as well as the inhuman training regime the candidates were subjected to, the attrition rate for the SCION program was staggering. Out of the first hundred SCION candidates, only thirteen were deemed successes; the rest either died of fatigue or cardiovascular failure, or were crippled physically or mentally. However, these successful candidates were spies and assassins without compare. Utterly loyal to the government, they lived only to search and destroy its enemies, which they did with startling efficiency.

Despite its handful of successes, the lengthy training time and unsustainable rate of attrition deemed SCION a failure in comparison to its rival program, SOLDIER. Dalmastice shut down the SCION program, and with skilled politicking, the commanders of the SOLDIER program were able to acquire their former rival's assets and resources. This included every active SCION agent, one of which being Epitaph LXIX, a seventh-generation SCION with over a hundred sorties over his two years of active service. Brainwashed child-soldiers with no family but the government and no life but warfare, the children of SCION were quickly subjected to the trials of SOLDIER. Be it the benefit of having already survived even harsher training, or sheer luck, Epitaph survived the trials and became a SOLDIER. Whether he was the only former SCION to survive is unknown to him, but he has larger concerns.

Bred for battle and nothing else, Epitaph had a solitary existence as a SCION. To keep them from forming attachments that could compromise mission effectiveness, each SCION lived in utter isolation. They trained, ate and slept alone, and only came into regular contact with other people when assigned orders, infiltrating enemy positions, or in the rare cases of operating with another SCION. In contrast, as a SOLDIER Epitaph is expected to live and work as a team with his fellow operatives; a concept utterly alien to him. Suffice to say, this transition has been difficult for him. Killing another human is a far simpler concept than learning to trust and understand one, and Epitaph is frequently pushed beyond what his meagre capacity for emotion will allow him to withstand. Even so, he solemnly continues to attempt to learn sociality, as he is under orders from his new command to integrate with his new team.

weapon{s}.
A close-quarters operative, Epitaph's arsenal makes him a nightmare to anyone within his reach. His primary weapon is a power-sabre, a metal blade cloaked in a matter-disrupting energy field. This is supplemented by his scattergun, a close-range, wrist-mounted weapon that fires short blasts of superheated, razor-sharp shrapnel. With this, Epitaph can tear apart enemies at short range, but its wide spread makes it ineffective at longer ranges. The scattergun's secondary attachment is a needle gun, which fires a medium-range dart coated in virulent neurotoxin. Epitaph's speciality weapon is a virus gauntlet; a glove with several long, thin blades extending from the fingers. Each of these blades is actually a syringe connected to a canister of neurotoxin so lethal that infection results in screaming, painful death within seconds. As backups, Epitaph carries a wide range of "shuriken" bladed projectiles, each with a different tactical explosive charge. These include high-explosive for penetrating armor, electromagnetic for disrupting shields and electronics, high-voltage for immobilizing enemy vehicles and armored personnel, and monofilament wire for disrupting infantry formations.

skillset.
Epitaph is an assassin, first and foremost. His skills are focused on his ability to use stealth and subversion to infiltrate enemy lines and defenses, and then take on multiple armed enemies in close-quarters combat. Once his selected target(s) have been successfully assassinated, he will use his skills in evasion and misdirection to reach his designated extraction point. In less subtle operations, Epitaph can be dropped within the enemy ranks to raise hell and kill as many people as possible to disrupt enemy tactics and provide relief for suppressed personnel.

ability.
By tightening his focus, Epitaph can heighten his perception of time to the point where it seems like everything around him is moving in slow motion. His reflexes, senses and reaction time are all sharpened to superhuman levels, and he can process and evaluate his combat situation at lightning speeds. During his time as a SCION, a similar effect was achieved using combat drugs, and so Epitaph is well-adjusted to analyzing the battlefield and adjusting his tactics on the fly.

aeon.
Azagorod, She Who Laughs
RED/BLUE ┊ Prophecy & Deception
An enigma, inside a riddle, wrapped in a death threat. Azagorod's corpse was among the most disturbing of the Aeon, partially because of the remarkably humanlike face carved upon her death mask, but mostly because of the propensity for her corpse to make hollow sounds resembling laughter whenever it was moved. A brilliant figure of vermilion and cerulean robes, crowned in golden feathers and adorned with shimmering gems, Azagorod could be considered one of the most beautiful Aeon as well. That is until one looks beneath the many layers of semi-organic decoration covering her body, and finds the withered, ivory body underneath her gilded adornments.

limit/overdrive.
Epitaph's last-ditch power is as strange as the Aeon that granted it. When in lethal danger, Epitaph will gain sight of the threads of fate flowing through reality, and can see the myriad futures spread before him. This power grants him insight of up to five seconds into his future, allowing him to see every possible permutation of destiny following the actions he takes during that time. In addition, anyone in Epitaph's immediate vicinity loses all memory of events that transpire during this time; from their perspective, once his five seconds of precognition are up, time has jumped forward without their realization. The few to witness this power and survive describe it as though Epitaph briefly disappears from reality, only to return with lethal vengeance.
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Name/Nicknames: Sgt. Darrel "Toasty" Scott

Race: Human

Age: 33

Appearance: Scott has the bearing of a veteran soldier; a sharp eye, a surly expression, and a posture ready to snap into action at any time. His hair is kept cropped short, and he is usually clean-shaven, save for when on long maneuvers. Fair skin, blond hair and blue eyes, combined with Scott's classic, easy features and well-balanced build give him a distinct "all-American" appearance. Even so, numerous large scars cover Scott's body, be they from bullets, blades, flames or lasers. Much of Scott's torso is covered in an artificial skin mesh, as are large portions of his left arm and three mechanical fingers; the result of cybernetic prostheses being used to restore battle wounds.

Sexual Preferences: Grey-Asexual

Perks:

  • Pyromaniac
  • Cyborg
  • Rad Resistance



S.P.E.C.I.A.L:

  • Strength: 6
  • Perception: 7
  • Endurance: 6
  • Charisma: 3
  • Intelligence: 5
  • Agility: 8
  • Luck: 5


Personality: Scott's personality varies quite wildly depending on present company. Among his comrades and superiors in the Enclave, he is a completely reasonable person; friendly and relaxed, if a bit stiff at times. Outside of the Enclave, however, Scott resembles their ideal of a pitiless killer. He feels no compassion for the vast majority of wastelanders, seeing them as subhuman mutants. Literal mutants earn his outright hatred, rather than contempt, and he considers the only good mutant to be a dead one. Despite his genocidal urges, he believes that he (and of course by extension, the Enclave) are doing the best thing for the wasteland; purging it of corruption before it can be rebuilt into something great again.

Equipment:

  • Enclave Hellfire Armor
  • Heavy Incinerator
  • Enclave Plasma Pistol
  • Combat Knife
  • Plasma Grenade, 3
  • Flamer Fuel, 100 units
  • Energy Cell, 40
  • Stimpack, 6
  • RadAway, 3
  • MRE, 5
  • Purified Water, 6 bottles


Biography: Scott is Enclave, born and raised. His father was one of the few surviving soldiers to follow Autumn Sr. from the ruins of Navarro to Washington D.C. His mother was a nurse stationed in the med bay in Raven Rock, and it was in that base that Scott was born. There were few children among the Enclave, as among the handful that were born, the ones with mutations were cast out into the wasteland. As such, Scott was raised among soldiers and power armor, rather than teachers and toys. He received a compulsory education, of course, consisting mostly of political dogma and ideology. In time, Scott grew into exactly what the Enclave hoped that all children could be: a hateful, xenophobic killer, with a love for his country and only disgust toward everyone else.

Scott enlisted in the Enclave's army when he became of age (not that there was much choice for him), and spent his early years providing armed support to President Eden's work on the Mobile Base Crawler in Andrews AFB. His father, who had been a part of the Enclave's attempted usurpation of the original Project Purity, died of radiation poisoning in this time, and though Scott grieved for his father, he secretly pitied him for having not been allowed a soldier's death.

Scott's first taste of real combat was the war against the Brotherhood of Steel, following the return of Project Purity. He proved himself exceptionally in combat, completing numerous sorties. Scott came to consider a maneuver with less than a dozen confirmed kills on his part to be poor performance, and challenged himself to excel. He was wounded in several instances, and came to have three of his major internal organs and a large portion of his left arm replaced with cybernetics.

Following the fruition of the President's plans for Project Purity, Scott was selected as a candidate for the Hellfire Armor project, and was deployed with experimental armor and weapons in the continued efforts to eradicate the Brotherhood of Steel, Super Mutants, and other such undesirables from Washington D.C. Scott found this work quite to his liking, particularly the use of a Heavy Incinerator to "cleanse" the deep-rooted foulness in the Wasteland. Hellfire Armor has gained greater deployment following the successful use of it by Scott and other early candidates, but Scott is still recognized by his peers as one of the finest Hellfire troopers in the Enclave.

Other Notes/ETC: Scott's squad, one of the earliest Hellfire Trooper teams, is currently on maneuver deep within the D.C. Metropolitan area, seeking to wipe out a small Super Mutant encampment detected by an Eyebot.
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Name
Borea

Age
Young Adult

Species
Arcosian

Attribute
Intelligence

Personality & Appearance
Borea is a fairly standard Arcosian; short and lithe in stature, with a sleek, streamlined appearance. He has yellow eyes, his flesh is various shades of purple, orange and black, and he wears a white and black bio-suit.

Borea has many qualities that are similar to, as well as put him at odds with, the majority of his race. As with many Arcosians, Borea is essentially a sociopath, and has a complete lack of empathy. He sees people as either tools or annoyances, with very little in-between. Even so, he is generally polite and amiable among his allies, as he can emulate emotions that he does not feel with relative ease. He is something of a sadist, taking pleasure in crushing his enemies cruelly, and is completely ruthless in the pursuit of his ambitions. However, Borea finds value in order, and considers law enforcement to be a worthwhile endeavor. He sees the galactic conquest of his race as something undesirable, as it unbalances the galaxy and throws it into chaos. Though he truly doesn't care about anyone other than himself, he wishes to protect people on a conceptual level, and is not wantonly destructive nor homicidal. Borea despises those that look down on him, and absolutely refuses to be pitied; he is determined to achieve his ambitions with his own strength and will, though he is not above using others to fulfill his goals.

Weaponry & Equipment
Borea wears a bio-suit, a biological armor system "grown" on his home planet. This provides him with moderate protection from energy and concussive attacks, and allows him to interface with Arcosian bio-technology. His tail is also augmented with a blade, allowing it to be used as a last-resort weapon.

Abilities & Techniques

  • Arcosian Physiology: A naturally powerful race, Arcosians have a number of biological advantages over other races. They are quite physically strong, about on par with most trained warriors of other races, and are far faster than the galactic average. They can survive in the vacuum of space for weeks on end, and are capable of withstanding extremes of temperature and pressure. Arcosians are usually so naturally powerful that they "downgrade" themselves into less powerful forms out of necessity. Borea is relatively weak in terms of pure power compared to most Arcosians, and though he can transform, he has no need to, and usually stays in his true, "final" form. Borea himself is incredibly intelligent, with a near-perfect memory and calculative power nearing a supercomputer.
  • Telekinesis: Borea is a talented psion, and can move far more mass with his mind than he can with his body. However, the more force he exerts on something, the less fine control he has over the force. He also needs to be able to see something in order to delicately manipulate it. Meaning essentially, while he can throw boulders, or even write with a pen using telekinesis, he can't disassemble a ship into its component parts, or pinch a blood vessel in someone's brain. Though it is well within his abilities to crush a person using telekinesis, or rip them apart, many warriors have enough physical durability to withstand the force he can exert.
  • Telepathy: This is Borea's most favored, and powerful, technique. As a very powerful telepath, Borea can assault his enemies where they are most vulnerable: their minds. He can read minds and communicate telepathically as easily as he can fly, but more advanced techniques require concentration. With enough time to concentrate, he can plumb the depths of an enemy's memories, and even manipulate or remove them. He can subtly insert thoughts and ideas into an enemy's mind, and have them think that they are their own. Borea may even simply tear apart an enemy's mind with the sheer power of his own, leaving them a drooling, mindless wreck. If given time to establish a strong psychic link, Borea can even control the mind of his enemies, turning them into his puppets. Though Borea is mentally powerful, his telepathic techniques leave him open to counterattack by a sufficiently powerful mind, though those with minds powerful enough are usually other psions.
  • ESP: Borea can use residual psychic energy to sense things that others cannot. He has an acute sense for detecting ki, removing his need for a scouter, and can generally tell the intentions of someone at a glance. With retrocognition and psychometry, Borea can sense the recent history of a place of object merely by touching it. Borea also has a minor sense of precognition, giving him vague glimpses and sensations of the near future, though not enough to reliably predict it.
  • Illusions: A simple, but surprisingly effective skill, Borea can generate psychic illusions: purely sensory constructs that resemble holograms or mirages. His illusions can fool any of the five senses, but can't exert and actual force, nor do they possess detectable energy. Meaning, his illusions cannot directly attack anyone, and they can easily be seen through with the use of scouters or ki sense.
  • Psionic Blast: Borea's ki attacks are augmented by his psychic abilities. While his ki blasts are usually quite weak, by using psionic blasts they become incredibly precise, if still somewhat lacking in power. Death Beams, Death Balls and Death Discs are within Borea's capabilities to use with incredible precision, even redirecting his own attacks in midair.


Backstory
Born to an inherently mighty race, Borea has been an outcast for the majority of his life due to his usual power among his people. His abilities did not lend to the traditional Arcosian ideal of a mighty conqueror, and his power level has always registered as being low for a member of his race. Feeling that he did not belong among the vicious Arcosians, Borea traveled the galaxy for years, trying to find his purpose, and practicing his psionic abilities. Driven by the desire to prove his detractors wrong, he has refused to train to increase his low power level (something that Arcosians almost never do anyway), and relies almost solely on his psychic abilities.

Borea came into contact with the ISF some years ago, and has found their ideals to his liking. He sees working with them as an opportunity to bring down the most powerful member of his race, Frieza, and prove to every Arcosian in the galaxy that he was not only as mighty as they, but indeed superior.
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"For centuries my sacrifices brought peace to this land. Now only my shadow remains."

N A M E / A L I A S

Volkimir Sturmkirk

The Mortifier
Dark Angel
The Shadow King

M Y T H O L O G Y

As a nation both vast and ancient, Ansus has a history at once both lengthy and profound. Among its many colorful legends of triumphant heroes, there are just as many tales of misery and despair. Onesuch tale regards the tragedy of House Sturmkirk, one among the many royal bloodlines descended from the venerable Forefather and his compatriots. In times long past, when the land of Ansus was divided amongst petty kingdoms and fractious empires, there were few who could called themselves nobility that held true to the honor of their ancestors. Sturmkirk was one of these few noble households; reverent to the gods, benevolent to their vassals, and merciless to their enemies. Great fortresses and cathedrals were erected in the Eastern Reaches at their command: baroque towers of stone and iron rising among the mighty trees and mountain peaks as tributes to the achievements both mortal and divine. Their territory, the Stormlands, held fast against rival kingdoms and barbarian hordes alike, and the Sturmkirk name became synonymous with power and majesty.

It is said that the glory of Sturmkirk died with their last true king, a mighty warrior and crusader. Killed in battle against one of the many barbarian tribes so deeply entrenched in the Stormlands, the crown was passed onto his son, marking the beginning of a dark new era in the legacy of that ancient breed, and indeed for all of Ansus. The newly-crowned king was not a warrior as his father was; rather, he was a scholar and alchemist, as well as a wizard if rumors were to be believed. Rather than rule by the sword, he sought to uphold the strength of his nation through more enlightened legislation, and educating his subjects. A civilized man in uncivilized times, the king's thoughtfulness was seen as weakness by both neighboring kingdoms and the barbarians plaguing his kingdom. Conflicts erupted throughout the Stormlands, as well as widely across its borders. The might of their military was enough to keep the peace, but not without cost. The stability of his kingdom lessened, the peasantry grew fearful, and the king's court began to question him.

The decline of House Sturmkirk was slow, yet gradual, and felt more strongly year by year. Border engagements became mounting defeats, and territory was lost to the Stormlands' greedy neighbors. Barbarians won out against guards and soldiers, and raids on common villages became increasingly frequent. The king grew older, and dissent grew in his court. His bannermen mocked him in their cups, and rumors circulated of dark and disturbing experiments carried out in the laboratories carried out beneath Castle Sturmkirk. His perceived failings reached their peak as the royal keep itself was assaulted by a barbarian horde. The royal guard's numbers depleted by years of conflict, the king's sons took to the walls to bring courage and inspiration to those that remained. The castle was held, but at a dire cost; the king's only sons had been killed in battle. Those closest to the king knew then that the pressure of leadership had finally come to break him, and that he was not the same man since those days.

His territory shrinking, his homeland sacked and plundered by bandits and tribesmen, and his heirs dead, the king grew desperate to restore honor and glory to his household. At first he tried what he knew best, logic and science. Logistics and law were planned and written out to revitalize the kingdom, but to no avail. Propaganda next, to stir the common folk into fighting back against the despair that had settled in their country. As even this failed, the king turned to darker arts; sorcery and enchantment were delved into, to restore the fortune and power of the Stormlands. These forbidden forays seemed to drain what was left of the king's sanity, and so he resorted to the foulest heresy of all: he procured a deal with a demon.

The demon Shilgengar was summoned from the depths of the infinite hells, promises of power and prestige on its lips and malice in its heart. The immortality and might of the divine were offered to the mad king, and were eagerly accepted. In exchange, the demon demanded that he forsake the gods of his ancestors, and offer up the very life of his family's patron angel. Without a second thought, the king cast off the gods of old, and callously lured the sacred angel Marycz to a cruel and gruesome death. The demon took the holy blood of the slaughtered angel, and after mixing it with his own foul ichor, offered it to the king and his few remaining loyalists. They partook eagerly, but were all-too-predictably fooled by the malevolent beast. Rather than bless them with divine strength, they were cursed to endure their sins eternally; they had become immortal, half-living fiends of night, Vampires.

A curse though it was, power had been restored to Sturmkirk all the same. With their newfound strength of flesh and magic, their homeland was "purified," first quickly by removing all of those who had dissented against the king. Later was the long war against the barbarians that had been a curse upon the land for time immeasurable. However, they were a blessing in comparison to what had now befallen the Stormlands. Madness of the mind and sins of the soul twisted the nobility of the Stormlands into monsters, and the entire region devolved into a cesspit of debauchery and corruption. Commoners were slaughtered in droves, and they were the lucky ones. Others became human cattle to the vampiric nobility, or were subject to the king's depraved experiments. A miasma of darkness settled over the Stormlands, as though the gods themselves had forsaken this land and everyone within it. The kingdoms of the age no longer dared to venture within its borders, and monsters and heretics from lands far and wide sought asylum in this locus of evil. Generations passed, and the black forests and looming peaks eventually became known as the Shadowlands. In a way, the mad king succeeded in returning power to Sturmkirk, as no family became more fear or hated in all of Ansus.

However, as the ages passed and the powers of the land grew fewer and mightier, a man emerged from the Shadowlands' unholy depths, bearing a forsaken name. He was Volkimir Sturmkirk, and he had come to restore honor to his name. Filled to sickening of the depravity of the vampire courts of his homeland, his personal quest had been one to return the pride of House Sturmkirk. For years untold he wandered the length and breadth of the world. In distant lands, where men spoke strange tongues and had never heard the name Sturmkirk, he learned to be a sorcerer, a swordsman and a statesman. Across the myriad kingdoms of Ansus, he delved ancient tombs and ruins, uncovering secret arts and lost artifacts. He sought out the great masters of combat and the clever craft, and upon defeating them demanded that they remember his name. With treasure and triumph, he crafted his own legend, though one spoken of only in whispers. Despite his efforts, Sturmkirk was still a cursed name, and for all of his power and prestige, he was still the same unholy monster that had bespoiled a great noble house: a vampire.

A centuries wore on, Volkimir adjusted his goals and methods, taking on a subtler approach to restoring the pride of his ancestry. Where he saw useful allies, he lent his strength to create immortal dynasties. Where rivals or antagonist could emerge, he brought destruction and ruin. From the short-sighted perspectives of men, this mysterious figure seemed to be a capricious agent of fortune, more an unreadable omen than a man. However, as he grew older, Volkimir could feel himself growing cold and distant. He felt more detached from mortal men with each passing decade, and found their ephemeral ideas and motivations increasingly unconscionable.

However, darkness loomed elsewhere than the immortal heart of the Shadowlands' outcast prince. Having finally exhausted the lives of their cursed homeland, the vampires of Volkimir's former royal lineage turned their attentions outward for the first time in many centuries. With hordes of undead, immortal warriors, and the blackest sorceries imaginable, they took to the fields of battle against the kingdoms of the age. Like a plague they spread through the continent, bringing death and despair to Ansus like the land had never seen before. These were considered the end times by many, and became known as the Horror Wars. The defending empires were ill-prepared against this unholy onslaught, and it seemed that none could stand against them. However, there was one man who could fight such monsters, as he was one of their very blood.

Volkimir beseeched the nations that still had strength to stand against the powers of the Shadowlands. He brought them his power and expertise, his wisdom and experience. Many nations turned him away at first, thinking him to be an agent of corruption or insurrection, but some were desperate enough to trust in him, and they were enough at first. The few key victories he won against the dark hordes earned him the loyalty of the greater powers, and they were enough to turn the tide of the Horror Wars. The Shadowlands' forces were legion, their ranks filled with demons and other unspeakable monstrosities, but for every monster they wielded, Volkimir had a new trick or strategy. He turned their undead against them, lured them to their holy banes, or deceived demons into accepting self-defeating contracts, among many other unorthodox tactics.

The wars ended within a year, the monsters beaten back to their unholy hive, and peace had returned to Ansus. The vampires spurned Volkimir, calling him a betrayer of his kind, and branding him as "Mortifier." Some common folk and clergy saw him as a secret blessing of the gods, silently paying tribute to this "Dark Angel." Many of the nations who fought in the wars had united in face of a common enemy and become a single state, or merely absorbed lesser, defeated nations. In sight of this united Ansus, which he had commanded to victory, Volkimir saw his perfect opportunity to achieve ultimate honor and glory. He attempted to appoint himself as king over the united kingdoms of Ansus. However, this was far from a successful ploy; though he knew the minds of his enemy, he had grown too detached from men to know their minds. Commoners viewed him as yet another monster attempting to conquer them through underhanded means. The church saw him as demonspawn, utterly unfit to rule the lands the Forefather had conquered in the name of the gods. Indeed, the Grand Ecclesiarch himself claimed that his bronze cane would sooner blossom with flowers than the gods permit such a monstrosity to rule over their people. The myriad nations that had allowed Volkimir to save them and their people washed their hands of him, seeing him as a deniable asset not expended of use.

Rage and despair overcame Volkimir. He had given everything he had to these people, and yet they still spurned him. Only then, he realized, he had not truly given them everything. With a small host of loyal soldiers, Volkimir marched back into the Shadowlands, and was never seen again. It is said on that same day, the cane of the Ecclesiarch bloomed with beautiful, bronze flowers. In years after his disappearance, monsters ceased to emerge from the tainted forests, and the aura of darkness slowly faded from the land. Gradually the peasantry returned, and the land was resettled, its dark past was forgotten to the passage of time; merely a black page in the history of Ansus.

A P P E A R A N C E

As an ageless vampire, Volkimir is considered to be an avatar of dark and forbidden beauty. Seen usually as a tallish man with the well-balanced build of an experienced warrior, Volkimir Sturmkirk is a striking figure to behold. His features are sharp and angular, balanced by his masculine brow and strong jawline. His eyes are the most distinctive feature of his face; their black sclera and icy, luminous irises are distinctly inhuman, and Volkimir's gaze is piercing and predatory. Sharp, white fangs are revealed whenever he smiles or speaks, and his incisor teeth seem unnaturally sharp and jagged. His hair hangs to the top of his shoulderblades, and is so fair that in most lighting it seems completely white. Volkimir's skin, while usually so pale as to seem translucent, takes on a sickly, ashen hue when exposed to sunlight, stripping away his last disguise of humanity.

A B I L I T I E S / E Q U I P M E N T

As a vampire, Volkimir is at once much more and much less than a normal man. His strength and speed are both mythic; far greater than what can be attained by common men. He can see in darkness just as well as in light, can hear a heartbeat from across a full feasting hall, and can smell a living bloodscent from a league away. If he so chooses, he can move in complete silence, become invisible, or fly through the air like a phantom of night. Neither age nor disease blights him, and his half-living flesh is greatly resistant to cold and poison. However, he is cursed to feed upon the lifeblood of mortals, requiring at least a human body's worth of blood every turn of the moon. Sunlight is his bane, searing his skin and punishing him with migraines should he come in direct contact with it. Silver nauseates him, and the sight of his own reflection fills him with delirium. Moonlight reflected in water or by a silver mirror inflicts Volkimir with temporary blindness, should it meet his eyes. Though he can recover from wounds faster than most mortal men, any wound inflicted by silver or living wood festers rather than heal cleanly.

Most mortals have but a few decades to practice their skills, whereas Volkimir has had thousands of years to perfect his own. He is a swordsman par excellence, wielding a bastard sword with inhuman power and grace. His skill as a statesman and general are both profound, and he speaks many tongues both living and dead. A master manipulator, Volkimir is able to turn both common men and entire nations to his will. These are merely his mortal skills, as his magical arts are far more profound. By plumbing ancient ruins in distant corners of the world, Volkimir is master of many magical practices forgotten by mankind. His favored spells fall under the domain of "sangromancy," a rare and secretive school of black magic that specializes in manipulating flesh, bones and blood. Volkimir's most infamous techniques are to painfully disintegrate flesh to ash, or to manipulate the matter of still-living bodies, turning his enemies and prey into puppets.

Almost as famous as the man himself is his legendary sword, Elbrus, the Bound Blade. While ornate in design and flawless in construction, Elbrus is quite unusual in having been forged of a metal not known to earthly smiths. The blade is seemingly unbreakable, with an edge as sharp as winter, and so dark in color that it appears to consume light rather than reflect it. Intensely magical, the sword absorbs the life-force of those it wounds, giving Volkimir a considerable advantage in lengthy duels. However, this is not a mere enchantment; Elbrus has bound within it a powerful demon, sealed within the sword countless ages ago by a holy warrior that gave his own life to contain the monster. The sword has an unspeakably unholy aura to those sensitive to such matters, and the demon whispers foul promises and fouler threats to anyone weak of will that comes to wield Elbrus.

In his travels Volkimir acquired many other trappings and trinkets, relics of bygone eras. Remarkable is that the man left behind almost no artifacts of his own; having "borrowed" his material strength from more ancient heroes, his ancestors and forebears. Such "reappropriated" relics include the Helvault, a mysterious meteorite said to imprison 108 different demons, and the spear Encarmine, said to have been wielded by a dragon-slaying angel of ages past.

A G E O F L E G E N D

The Horror Wars were roughly 2,000 years ago, though Volkimir was born an indeterminate number of millennia before.
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