[OOC] ⇜ Deicide ⇝ [Dark Fantasy Isekai]

[Redacted]

𐌃𐌄𐌉𐌂𐌉𐌃𐌄

The Dust Remembers

〢〣〢

(2/5 Victims Summoned)

Ø₦Ɇ ₥ØⱤɆ ₵Ⱨ₳₦₵Ɇ

^{Cmyv dmvqx erxiktx uew crxcvxymrgrk crsskl, ksvrep. Zyx rlmq amjp fc cssv pywx, yrh gj xfi jyxi mj xfmw usvjh mq xs bmi ypslk agxl wsy. Qs fc mx.}

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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐚 𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐥𝐲𝐬𝐦 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧—𝐚𝐧 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬. 𝐋𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐝, 𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐞, 𝐜𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐝𝐨𝐦 𝐟𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐬𝐡. 𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐝𝐨𝐦, 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞, 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐧 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬. 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝, 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐭, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐞 𝐚 𝐟𝐮𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰. 𝐘𝐞𝐭, 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐥𝐞 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐧, 𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐮𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐰—𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚𝐧 𝐮𝐧𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐞, 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐛𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞.

𝐘𝐞𝐭, 𝐚𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐜𝐲𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐬, 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐰𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐥, 𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐩 𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐨 𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐥𝐲 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐜 𝐨𝐟 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐞𝐱𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞. 𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬, 𝐢𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐚 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟-𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐲𝐜𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐨𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐬. 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐠𝐚𝐳𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐞 𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐮𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐬, 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐛𝐞𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐝, 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐫𝐲 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞, 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐦𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐝𝐞𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝?

𝐈𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐑𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐬, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐝𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥. 𝐈𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐤𝐞, 𝐚 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐨 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐞𝐬—𝐜𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐚𝐦𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧. 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐢𝐳𝐞 𝐮𝐩𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐦𝐨𝐢𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬, 𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐮𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐭𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫. 𝐀𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝, 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐚 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐲 𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐲𝐞𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐥𝐲𝐬𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐩𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡, 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐩𝐬. 𝐈𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝’𝐬 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐞𝐛𝐛𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲, 𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐭𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞.

Bᵤₜ ₜₕₑₙ “yₒᵤ” ₐₚₚₑₐᵣₑd.

〢〣〢

ⱣȺsŧ Ⱥnđ Fᵾŧᵾɍɇ

^{Vmxxcr iekw bsr'r lergl.}

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Memories of your past drift through your mind like a dense fog—faceless silhouettes and muffled voices just beyond reach. Each time you bury your face in your hands, grasping for clarity, searing pain surges through you. Who you are, who you might have been—none of it matters now. The life you once knew has slipped away, fading into obscurity. All that remains is the present, a new beginning forged from the ashes of the past.

But with that ending comes an even greater question—what has been forged in its place? Stripped of the past, of identity itself, who are you now?

You Have No Name

You are free to format and beautify this however you wish.

[image of your character]
Age of Death: — Number
Gender: — If applicable
Race: — Not restricted to this world
Psychology: — Personality traits and quirks

⑇⑉What You Remember⑉⑈

^{[Name of Memory]}
In detail, what does this memory teach your character about themselves, and below in the bullets list what skills these are expressed as. Players will begin with one memory, and as they progress they will accumulate more.

⑴ Skill description here.
⑵ Skill description here.

⑇⑉What You Don’t ⑉⑈

^{[Dying Wish/or Grudge]}
Describe the event in which your character died in their previous life, the circumstances around it and why with their dying breath, their thoughts and feelings reached the being that reincarnated them in this hellish world. This information will be withheld from your character for some time, but it is necessary to paint the full portrait of your character.

Nameless specters from worlds long lost, adrift in a realm unfamiliar. No family to remember you, no friends to anchor you only beheld by something deep and essential to your soul, branded into it regardless of the realm you stride across. Though your memories remain elusive, the scars woven into the very fabric of your being speak in their absence. They tell of struggles endured, of pain that lingers even without context. You cannot recall the moments that shaped you, but the weight of their echoes is undeniable. Whatever fate led you to ruin once before, you refuse to let it claim you again. This time, you will carve a new path, one not dictated by the ghosts of your past.

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[Theyra]

I do not normally like Isekai rps, but this one for some reason I am interested in. So I will figure out a char idea and make a cs soon.

[Redacted]

Throwing in an example character sheet while I continue cleaning stuff out.

Fear & Hunger

You are free to format and beautify this however you wish.

Age of Death: — 16
Gender: — Male
Race: — Human
Psychology: — Example text.

⑇⑉What You Remember⑉⑈

^{[The Smell of Gunpowder]}
The sharp stench of gunpowder filled the air, mixed with the deafening crack of gunfire and the piercing whine of bullets slicing through the chaos. The screams of men and women in fury, others in agony—formed a discordant symphony of battle. And amidst it all, there it was—that familiar, all too nostalgic sensation of cold iron pressed firmly against his cheek, grounding him in the— what was it again?.. Warfare. But where, and why?

⑴ He arrived in this world with what appeared to be a .303 Enfield in his grasp, its weight and form eerily familiar. Yet, subtle inconsistencies in its design set it apart; minute deviations in the craftsmanship, an unfamiliar balance in his hands. Most definitive of all were the strange runes carved into the sanded wooden stock, their language unknown yet rather than require ammunition they thrummed to life to manifest the rounds to fire.

⑵ Black powder isn’t something just anyone can refine or wield without the proper knowledge. It takes skill, precision, and an understanding few possess. But when you’re a child of war, that knowledge comes early—ingrained not through study, but through necessity. You learn its scent, its weight, the way it burns. The only necessities are the actual materials required to make it.

⑇⑉What You Don’t ⑉⑈

^{[May My Country Suffer, Just As I Did]}
His homeland’s population dwindled at an quickening rate, with the demand for soldiers grew desperate. In a cruel bid to fill the ranks, children were conscripted, thrown into the fires of war to make up for the lack of bodies on the front line. Most were little more than fodder, human shields sent to soak up enemy fire before they ever had a chance to fight. Yet, against all of the odds, he lasted through it all. He endured where so many fell, forced to do things no child should ever have to—unspeakable acts committed not out of malice, but out of necessity. Survival demanded cruelty, and war did not grant the luxury of innocence.

And in the end, it was all in vain.

In the end, it wasn’t a bullet that claimed his life. It was something far more insidious —an infection festering in the trenches carved by his own comrades. A slow, painful, pustulent death born not of combat, but of neglect. His body failed him before the war ever could, his final moments steeped in bitterness. Hate for the world that had shaped him into a weapon. Regret for the choices he was never given. And with his last, ragged breath, a curse escaped his lips, spoken not in sorrow, but in spite.

[Theyra]

Blind Man

Age of Death: — 25
Gender: — Male
Race: — Human
Psychology: — He has a calm demeanor, almost stoic but not all the way there. But beneath his exterior lies a brave and driven person. A loyal and caring person that values his friends and family. Once he sets his mind to something, it can be hard to be convinced otherwise. Also, has a strange affinity with coins, and likes to have some on his person if just to flip them on occasion.

⑇⑉What You Remember⑉⑈

^{[Friendly Sparring]}
The smell of the ocean and the sound of steel clash rang out as an intense fight was going on. Then the sound of a disarm and a fall, but instead of a final blow or a death cry. There was only laughter as a warm hand headed down to help the downed. It felt like a scene he had seen before but repeated several times with this person, with only this one being one of warmth and perhaps something more. A feeling he could not decipher right now. What this was about, and why was this such a friendly encounter this time?

⑴ When he wakes up in this world, in his hands lay two swords, two short swords made of steel but with runes etched on the blade. Runes that he could not decipher but felt a connection with. It felt familiar, and it weighed less than what you would expect. Making it ideal to be used in one hand and even more so with one in each hand.

⑵ Despite being blind, he is still able to see through a means thanks to his lineage. However, as he will notice, it is not like a normal human's vision and something that he will have to get used to. Lines outline each thing, both the living and the nonliving. Faces are not easily seen, but he can see some features, and at least there is color to this vision. It being day or night matters little to him and he can still clearly see despite it. He can tell people and things apart despite this and if he focuses enough. He can almost see something more, but right now, it escapes him.

⑇⑉What You Don’t ⑉⑈

^{[This Ends Here]}
For as long as he can remember. There was a monster, some kind of specter, that haunted his family for generations. Due to some curse that plagued the family due to their unique power. He thought his father managed to kill the thing, but instead, his father made a deal with it. A terrible deal that when his father died. This deal was transferred to his older sibling, and she became its host. For years, it wore his sister's skin until one day when he was forced to kill his sister, and it simply moved into another sibling.

Tired of this specter, he, with allies, made a plan, and while it worked, at first, it started to fail, and he knew what he had to do. He to destroy this specter once and for all. He sacrificed himself to end the specter. His last wish was that his family would finally be freed from this curse and be able to live in peace. Hoping that his sacrifice was not in vain.

[Festive]

All My Rage.

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_______________________________ N A M E : N A M E : "He can't seem to conjure up what it was..." A G E O F D E A T H : A G E O F D E A T H : "His age pushes over 1000, yet he can't place an exact number." R A C E : R A C E : "He is a human, that's known for sure." G E N D E R : G E N D E R : "There is no doubt that he is a male." P S Y C H O L O G Y : P S Y C H O L O G Y : "Despite the smog that covers his brain the brashness and impetuousness shine through. He stands stubborn as he forces himself to try to play blocked memories of the past. Confusion, loss, anger, course through his mind as he stands in a land on the brink." Memories of the past find themselves locked away... _______________________________

_______________________________________________________________________________ W H A T Y O U C A N R E M E M B E R : W H A T Y O U C A N R E M E M B E R : {M A N Y L I V E S L I V E D B Y O N E :} {M A N Y L I V E S L I V E D B Y O N E :} For a mind so full of memories of years past, not but one stands evident as full. Fragments of glipese upon different lives in different ages flood his mindscape as he can only catch but fleeting looks at once full experiences. Distorted calls and singing within a language of old but to his mind a warmth spread when it crossed his concious. Memories meld and mix in a hazey convocation as sights of spears made of crude iron and wood turn to blades of tempered steel, turn to the wood of a smoothbore. Different memories, different times, different lives. Although he had not but a clue of who he was, he could tell he was a man who has lived a long, long time. [1] When he awoke, the dirt and grime that surrounded him was naught but sparse. The armor he wore, ruined by a glimpse he couldn't see through the fog, sat roughly upon his body while within his hand he grips but an almost pristine iron dagger. His mind draws upon blanks on its origin, it his body seems to know it inside and out. The blade still as sharp as the day it was forged as he ran a thumb across it. For some reason, it was an item so familiar his body kept track of the movements for it that for him was hidden behind the fog of his mind. [2] He doesn't know what he feels, but he can feel it. A burn. A scorch mark upon his soul. A fire that rages with the screaming shouts of but hundreds of voices with an anger that fuels it further. Red tendrils light up his veins as the ire consumes him. Sparks of power glow from his body as it taps into a power so familiar he can call it, yet for distant it refuses to follow his call, refuses to spark its energy any further. It stands as a mystery for as when the red tendrils fade from view, he can feel the power slowly being ripped from him. W H A T Y O U C A N ' T R E M E M B E R : W H A T Y O U C A N ' T R E M E M B E R : {F O R A S I H O L D T H E H A T E O F M Y T R I B E , {F O R A S I H O L D T H E H A T E O F M Y T R I B E , I S H A L L M A K E T H E G O D S F E E L I T S R E C K O N I N G :} I S H A L L M A K E T H E G O D S F E E L I T S R E C K O N I N G :} Many say the Gods are not such beings one should cross; however, for man who has but naught to lose, no such regard is held. For as his God, Comjir, had been forsaken to die upon the holy fields, he was the only surviving worshiper left to enact but only pain on these Gods who had wronged his own and had wronged himself. And so began his journey, to slay those who stood as idols for Gods who but turn their back on their godly brother in the persuit of power. Idol after idol had been felled by his hands. Temples for these wicked God burned and demolished at his word. Yet, in his journey, there was but one idol who escaped his grasp. One idol who got away. One idol who had managed to best him. It is but always the cowards who use cheap tricks. He was caught in a trap, surrounded by idols of wicked gods, once good men trapped in the talons of evil. And but for him? The man who defied the Gods? By their might, he was left on that field alone. Torn. Broke. Shattered. As blood spewed forth from his lips, one last thought crossed his mind: "One day they shall cower." He can't seem to remember the tricks he once knew... _______________________________________________________________________________

[Redacted]

@Theyra

Skinny Geralt looks good, you can throw him in characters and I’ll be reaching out to ask some questions about him.

@Festive

Pretty character sheet, and I’m very curious as to what sort of fucked up life this guy lived before he died. Same goes for you, move him over at your leisure and I’ll be poking you about him.

[SilverPaw]

Hmm, former angel or hybrid experiment? I guess either way I might be leaning towards someone who's exploring the concepts of humanity and life.

[Redacted]

Hmm, former angel or hybrid experiment? I guess either way I might be leaning towards someone who's exploring the concepts of humanity and life.

@SilverPaw

Both pitches are interesting. The angel would probably be pissed when their memories start coming back.