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[OOC] Knights of The Dawn Covenant: The Longest Winter Page 204
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The Emperors Blade
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5 yrs ago
Wraithblade6 Interrogator Chaplain
Member
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4 yrs ago
Name: Damien Mithias Varomere
Appearance:
Age(20 and up): 27
Gender: M
Race: Human
Rank: Soldier
Personality: Split between a patient, obedient, disciplined, and caring young man, and a less often loosed darker side of paranoia, fear, hatred, and distrust. Either way, Damien keeps quiet most of the time, but acting independently, without asking for permission or communicating appropriately beforehand. It's difficult to tell if he hates others, or hates himself. Fortunately, he seems to enjoy hating the enemy, and is well able to stay focused on that.
Bio: Damien started in an orphanage. He claims to have taught himself necromancy, but there is no doubt he had some kind of outside influence. He's been an adult long enough to have learned such magic, but it's strange to find one so young so adept in this particular field. Necromancy is not so popular among the civilized and noble.
In short, he was different than the other children, even the older ones who had more wretched dispositions. Religion was half-beaten into him, and inwardly, he rebelled. His primary grounding in sympathy, Mother Luna, passed away right before he was forced to leave the orphanage. He never actually got adopted. He distrusted most everyone and lived as a rebellious skeptic until a woman softened his heart. She was of course promptly murdered by gangsters for supposedly being in the wrong place at the wrong time. They hadn't been married long, and Damien still wears her ring around his neck on a chain. He'll kill anyone who touches it.
He searched for her killer, but was never able to find him. In his depression, he turned to blood magic and seriously fucked up his mind, hence the split personality. He focuses on killing monsters in general now to placate himself. Nobody knows about his past illegal use of magic or why he dabbled in it. "Don't judge me."
Weapons(Primary, Secondary, Tertiary): Damien's primary weapon is his magic. Secondarily, he is fit and can fight with a sword, but he's not very practiced. He carries one in case the need would ever arise, and it has a few times. Tertiary, he has a couple daggers.
Magic:
So necromancers seem to be characterized by the raising of temporary, powerful, undead minions, and he can do that. He can call on spirits, speak to ghosts, and sense souls like a second sight with a little concentration. But what good is a necromancer that can't use his magic to directly defend his own corpse? In this endeavor, Damien has learned to cause fear, cause sickness, and cause weakness at a short distance, and to drain the lifeforce out of his assailants with his touch. He can use some of that drained life energy to heal himself, but it's not very efficient. He can of course control undead, destroy them, and torture them should they try to resist him. He is resistant to cold and needs little sleep. He learned to cast a weak lightning spell as a ranged attack, but hopefully, his minions will be doing most of the fighting.
Other: Damien really.... really, really hates dark elves.
Post Example:
Theme Song(optional):
Appearance:
Age(20 and up): 27
Gender: M
Race: Human
Rank: Soldier
Personality: Split between a patient, obedient, disciplined, and caring young man, and a less often loosed darker side of paranoia, fear, hatred, and distrust. Either way, Damien keeps quiet most of the time, but acting independently, without asking for permission or communicating appropriately beforehand. It's difficult to tell if he hates others, or hates himself. Fortunately, he seems to enjoy hating the enemy, and is well able to stay focused on that.
Bio: Damien started in an orphanage. He claims to have taught himself necromancy, but there is no doubt he had some kind of outside influence. He's been an adult long enough to have learned such magic, but it's strange to find one so young so adept in this particular field. Necromancy is not so popular among the civilized and noble.
In short, he was different than the other children, even the older ones who had more wretched dispositions. Religion was half-beaten into him, and inwardly, he rebelled. His primary grounding in sympathy, Mother Luna, passed away right before he was forced to leave the orphanage. He never actually got adopted. He distrusted most everyone and lived as a rebellious skeptic until a woman softened his heart. She was of course promptly murdered by gangsters for supposedly being in the wrong place at the wrong time. They hadn't been married long, and Damien still wears her ring around his neck on a chain. He'll kill anyone who touches it.
He searched for her killer, but was never able to find him. In his depression, he turned to blood magic and seriously fucked up his mind, hence the split personality. He focuses on killing monsters in general now to placate himself. Nobody knows about his past illegal use of magic or why he dabbled in it. "Don't judge me."
Weapons(Primary, Secondary, Tertiary): Damien's primary weapon is his magic. Secondarily, he is fit and can fight with a sword, but he's not very practiced. He carries one in case the need would ever arise, and it has a few times. Tertiary, he has a couple daggers.
Magic:
So necromancers seem to be characterized by the raising of temporary, powerful, undead minions, and he can do that. He can call on spirits, speak to ghosts, and sense souls like a second sight with a little concentration. But what good is a necromancer that can't use his magic to directly defend his own corpse? In this endeavor, Damien has learned to cause fear, cause sickness, and cause weakness at a short distance, and to drain the lifeforce out of his assailants with his touch. He can use some of that drained life energy to heal himself, but it's not very efficient. He can of course control undead, destroy them, and torture them should they try to resist him. He is resistant to cold and needs little sleep. He learned to cast a weak lightning spell as a ranged attack, but hopefully, his minions will be doing most of the fighting.
Other: Damien really.... really, really hates dark elves.
Post Example:
I wrote this collab with a friend 3 years ago. It's a sample. Enjoy.
At the moment he found her, time stood still. The sun ceased crossing the sky and his heart beat no more. All that he had been had died within, his spirit vanquished in a merciless instant, leaving behind a body that could only be described as an empty shell. Vacant, despondent, the same moment never ticking over for him for weeks, Damien Varomere was wasting away. Friends had abandoned him to his grief, calling him hopeless. Every moment, he saw her blood, her beautiful face... The images forever burned into his eyes. Waves of tears beat him raw, locked away in the home that had once been theirs. It was starvation that eventually drove him out.
Mindless, like an animal, or rather "souless," to be more accurate, the grief-stricken widow
had walked the streets. Breathing was familiar, sunlight was too, but Damien inwardly cursed the world for coldly continuing on without her. It was nothing to him without her, and as fierce as his denial was, reality remained unmoved. That is when he saw the ring.
No one in the universe may know what brought his eye to that jewelry stand, but he saw it. Lifting it up in complete disbelief he confirmed it was in fact hers. The very ring he had wed her with shortly before her murder. Suddenly, time rushed forward in a blur. Every moment he had ceased to exist rushed to catch up to him, colliding with him mentally with such force it was practically lethal. He lunged at the vendor, grabbing his neck and quickly drawing the attention of the law. He made the vendor tell him who sold him the ring, and only after that was he able to collect any shred of composure. The vendor was not his lover's killer and not his target. Damien, the crazed maniac, was forced away. Unfortunately he could not have afforded to buy back the ring even if he hadn't been arrested, but from that moment on, his mission was clear. The flame of vengeance blazed like a bonfire over his sorrow. He would find the murderer who took that ring off his wife's dead hand and kill him. No threat of pain or death would stop him. Thus it was when he turned to darkness.
Damien knew no good god would have supported him in his murderous endeavor. He blamed them, all of them, for his foul fate and the persistence of wickedness and chaos that randomly took his beloved's life. He sought to profess himself to the other side, to plead with the supreme forces of evil and order to support his cause, to lend him aid. There was only one deity that suited him. To him, Damien had constructed a meager alter beneath his home where he offered prayer and worship. Time went by and Damien learned more of this newfound faith, but he drew no closer to finding his target. Truth be told, he had fallen far during his despair. He had already had a childhood fraught with difficulty. Without Saria, he had no shield or hope against a word that hated him for his bloodline. She had been the blessed one, leading him and others to the light of good. How she was everything to him. The fact she had been taken from him was a clear demonstration of how meaningless it had all been, that faith and hope were pointless and powerless. Their goddess was either careless... or powerless. Thus, he bared his vengeful desires to Asmodeus.
One night, Damien had a strange and powerful dream. In the dream, he was at his secret altar when a sense of dread came over him, and a shadowy figure with horns reached out a hand to him. He awoke with a start. Once he had calmed himself, he got up and went down to his shrine. Seeing nothing, he lit several candles and knelt down to meditate on the dream, pondering its meaning. Had it been a premonition? And omen? or was his sleeping mind merely envisioning his true heart's desire? After a few moments, the hair stood on the back of Damien's neck inexplicably. Without knowing why, he felt like he sensed a presence in the room with him. The air became heavy, the flames on the candles began to flare up, and the energy in the air was palpable. Something was directly behind him.
Fearful, yet excited with his heart racing, Damien turned around sharply. He saw the horned figure from his dream, clearly present and glaring down at him. This was an agent of his god. He was terrified, yet eager to prostrate himself before it. His body literally trembled all around him. He waited, cowering, until it would speak, or for whatever it would do to him.
The figure stepped out of the shadows and spoke in a soft velvety voice "There there child, your master has heard your pleas." The figure puts one foot on Damiens shoulder and kicked him onto his back. "The Father of Lies will have none of that pathetic groveling you call a proper prayer!"
Now on his back, propping himself up on his elbows, Damien got a good look at her. She was about 6 foot, with red skin and blonde curly hair that framed her face. The tiefling had horns that came from her forehead and swooped back, piercings all along both ears, a voluptuous body, and wearing a very loose, scant robe. A single dagger hung at her waist. He stared at her in awe, fear, and readiness. "Teach me, master. I beg of you."
"The Father of Lies is not without his mercy, he has sent me to guide you, but first you must prove worthy of my guidance. 'Beg.'You say? Well then..." She crouched down and cupped Damiens face in her hands. "I will teach you how to truly beg. Then, you know how to make others do the same." As she said this, she got right in his face, straddling him, and kissed him. Pulling away, she stood back up. "You will call me Mistress Revin, and you, my pupil, will do well to please me. For pleasing me is pleasing our Master."
The kiss was stolen from his lips without his consent, and thus Damien first realized that she could take whatever she wanted from him at any time. ...and he would give it to her. "Yes Mistress. I will obey you. Give me my vengeance, and I will give my soul."
A smile parted her thin lips. "Good boy, but you are a far way from vengence on anyone. You are to soft. I will break you of that. Asmodeous has no need for those who hesitate. Now, be a good pet and guide me to the nearest bar. I need a drink."
His heart filled with twisted gratitude and alacrity as he rose before her. Damien was at least her height, yet he felt is if she were far above him. This was a blesing of unparalleled magnitude and for Damien, it marked the point of no return. He knew he would do anything she told him. He craved this path, wanted the control that would be the end of the crimelords who were responsible for his beloved's death. The lesser evil that they were needed to be eliminated.
Upon enetering the bar with an attractive woman, most of the crowd stopped and stared. Men dropped their drinks. Womens jaws dropped, and to some of them this woman was the finest thing they had ever seen. It wasn't long after they sat down that a fumbling serving boy clambered over to their table and asked for drinks and returned promptly. The tiefling drank four drinks before she turned to Damien, "Tell me what is it you can do, exactly?"
Damien refused any drinks but took water. He was too intent upon his mission to exhibit any weakness and mental dullness. "I have magic in me, Mistress." He looked down and reached his hand toward her slowly to touch her skin. "And, this is its nature." With that, he showed her his bloodline power, causing an abhorrent chill to shriek its way into her body. He had no idea how she would react, but he meant to be direct despite the risk of rebuke.
"Oh how cute. You thought a little display of power would impress me." She snickered. "Let me show you what I can do!" With that, she stood up and walked over a wealthy bar patron. Without even touching him, he fell to his knees and began kissing her boot. Seconds later, another patron gave her his full coin purse before kicking the other man off of her. She promptly returned to the table with a sack full of coins. "All that, and without a drop of magic. Perhaps it is more then magic I should teach you, my lovely pet." She kissed Damien's lips.
She had kissed him again, and this time Damien was irritated at himself for being completely unable to resist. He felt no love for her, only admiration and devotion... but no. He was denying the obvious. She ignited a feeling in him that had been dead, murdered along with his wife. It was pure lust. He did not deny it as he contemplated a reply. "Your ability to manipulate and control is truly astonishing. I am eager to learn." Damien tried to reign in his growing passion. He heaved a breath. "You know you have me completely in your control. Please, do not seduce me further. I cannot concentrate."
"Oh but that is your first lesson." she retorted pleasantly. "Our emotions give us power. Had I been angry, instead of having that man kick the other off my boot, I would have had him run him through. Had I been feeling a bit more playful, I could have had that man take me right then and there, but these are things you must learn." She jabbed him in the chest. "Your rage burns deep within your heart, but that is not the only emotion you have. They are all still there, even love, as pitiful as a notion that it is." Revin tossed her hair and grabbed Damien's hand and pulled him up, just as the tavern erupted with the sound of music. "Come! Dance with me. Forget your sorrow and grief for one night. For tomorrow, the real training begins." A smile crossed her face, one Revin rarely gave, one that was sincere and almost warming.
Dance?? The notion was like a foreign language. An inanity! All out war ignited inside Damien as he fought with himself internally. he was in no mood to be dncing. still, she said he had to use his emotion, that he still had the capacity for love. Everything within him resisted her command, as she pulled him up and toward the dance floor, but he knew he had to obey. He had to finally wrest his will to cave in to despair and sulking and prove his ability to stand up and fight. Sorrow was for the weak. And so he began. Her smile was actually warm, mimicking the smile he had once loved. He would find his feet and dance, for her, for revenge, for his dark lord.
The crowd parted as Revin led Damien out onto the dance floor, and to anybody watching it was obvious she was leading. With fluidity and grace the tiefling made the dance seem like nothing more then a cake walk, others approached and began to ask her to dance she politely turned them away always with the same reason "I'm here with my lover." It was a lie but they didn't need to know that, she knew Damien was still centered on vengance but he still had far to much to learn. After the song ended she pulled him outside, it had started to rain, as they walked to Damien's home she asked a question she knew would catch him off guard "Tell me about you wife?"
It was either the newfound emotional strength that his mistress had instilled in his heart, or a coldness to his former emotions that she had given him, but in either case, it was enough to allow Damien to answer her question. His eyes became unfocused as he walked. "Her name was Saria. She was loving and joyous, innocent, yet surprisingly capable. She was a follower of Iomedae, leading others to the light. She was my heart."
The human's mental stability trembled.
Revin cringed at the mention of Iomedae, she wasn't a huge fan of any of the "good" gods. She could feel her companions sorrow, his grief and his grip on sanity failing, she pitied the man but at the same time she knew she had a job to do. The tiefling gripped his hand tight and held it all the way home, still giving off the appearance of lovers, upon reaching his home she turned to him, stroking his face before embracing him "I'm sorry for your loss, but their is hope, if you do well you will see her again. However, there is a threshold you must cross. Are you willing to do so?"
"She was murdered pointlessly, but brutally." He grimaced. "I found her body in an ally, the ring I gave her was stolen. She was a causality of the crime in the city, merely caught at the wrong place at the wrong time. I don't care what it takes, but I will give anything to avenge her. Iomedae be damned."
"So be it. I will teach you what I know. Once your vengeance is complete, payment will be due." She pulled him tighter thinking what would have happened if she had met a man this dedicated. "You need rest." she stroked his face once more. "I must warn you the training will be brutal and strict. Are you sure you want to do this? The contract still has not been made."
Damien bowed. "I do not care what becomes of me after this. I am already dead. I will serve no god except Asmodeus. I foresee his victory. I long for him to ascend and subjugate this pathetic world. For this, he shall ever have my loyalty. Do not underestimate the heat of my desire, mistress. I have lot all sense of mercy and will not desist in my training."
The cleric was slightly taken aback from all of the, usually people didn't come over to the following of Asmodeous without some more prompting, but this man came willingly, much as she had many years ago. But today Revin felt odd and out of place. This man who she had only known a breif time was already far more powerful then she was. She didn't know how it could be possible. There was something about him. The first kiss she gave him was just her normal playful self. The second was different, and as Revin kissed him a third time, she felt something she hadn't felt in a long time from herself, passion. She abruptly pulled away, thankfully her skin was red to hide the blushing. What had this man done to her? "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend, I should go now." Revin turned to go but deep down hoped Damien would stop her.
Damien did not stop her. He was cold as ice.
So, he didn't stop her. Soon she would change that. In his heart, he lusted for her. That much Revin knew, but the real question was, did she lust for him as well? Was it something else? The rain was pouring as the tiefling walked the streets. Several inns turned her down either because they were full or they didn't like her appearance. She could have worked her magic but she didn't waste her time, after a hour of wandering she returned to a familiar house, fulling expecting to find its occupant asleep. She opened the door and quietly shut it behind her, she supposed Damien wouldn't mind if she lit a fire and warmed herself up, after all where else was she going to go, back to Hell, the flames of Hell didn't give off the heat of a real fire, or a lover for the night.
Damien returned home to find his place... which used to be Saria's place, unexpectedly warm and lit with a fire in the hearth. The house was a disaster, as one might expect would result from severe depression. Without caring what intruder might lie within, he walked past the corner to see his mistress by the fire. He approached, and knelt beside her, staring at the flames. Her presence was irresistible. "Mistress. I have one request." He turned to her, placing his hand down to the floor before her wanting nothing but to surrender to her physically. "Please, teach me to pray."
"Very well, but first I must get out of these wet robes. Do you think you have anything to fit me? If not I'm no stranger to being naked in a strange mans home, especially one as promising as you." She winked at the young man before removing her robes and letting them fall to the floor with a loud plop. Revin looked back at Damien, by now he would have noticed the tail, "well of course hes gonna notice it" she screamed mentally "your using it to pick up your dagger after all." The cleric knelt beside Damien and began to show him the way she had been taught to pray, drawing a few drops of blood from each of them she led him in a prayer to Asmodeous, after she was done she passed him the dagger. "Now, your turn."
Seeing her perfect, naked body was painfully driving him, yet the love-lost human dared not move from his position. Damien had completely forgotten she had asked about clothing as he stared at her. He watched her kneel, entranced. He gave her his hand. Only the pain of her dagger pricking him seemed to shake any sense back into him. He blinked as he watched the red rivulet flow. With their blood together, they prayed, and Damien felt ever moreso in communion with his dark deity. He accepted the dagger from her and this time cut himself of his own volition, near the cut she had given him. The act of bleeding himself willingly held spiritual meaning. It gave weight to his words when he was nothing more than a weak mortal convert. It was willingness to sacrifice, willingness to die in service. He felt a power suddenly fill him and he opened his arms, lifting his head back, to accept it. "My god!" He gasped.
Revin was pleased, she could see the same devotion she had gained when she went through her first ritual. She had noticed his eyes linger over her body. She didn't mind, for she knew what she was. Besides a cleric and sorceress, she was a woman, and a whore at that. When he had settled from the ecstasy of the ritual Revin beckoned him over. "It is no crime to look, my pet, no crime to enjoy the sights before you. I don't bite...much." The tielfing winked at the young man.
The two consummated their lust for each other.
At the moment he found her, time stood still. The sun ceased crossing the sky and his heart beat no more. All that he had been had died within, his spirit vanquished in a merciless instant, leaving behind a body that could only be described as an empty shell. Vacant, despondent, the same moment never ticking over for him for weeks, Damien Varomere was wasting away. Friends had abandoned him to his grief, calling him hopeless. Every moment, he saw her blood, her beautiful face... The images forever burned into his eyes. Waves of tears beat him raw, locked away in the home that had once been theirs. It was starvation that eventually drove him out.
Mindless, like an animal, or rather "souless," to be more accurate, the grief-stricken widow
had walked the streets. Breathing was familiar, sunlight was too, but Damien inwardly cursed the world for coldly continuing on without her. It was nothing to him without her, and as fierce as his denial was, reality remained unmoved. That is when he saw the ring.
No one in the universe may know what brought his eye to that jewelry stand, but he saw it. Lifting it up in complete disbelief he confirmed it was in fact hers. The very ring he had wed her with shortly before her murder. Suddenly, time rushed forward in a blur. Every moment he had ceased to exist rushed to catch up to him, colliding with him mentally with such force it was practically lethal. He lunged at the vendor, grabbing his neck and quickly drawing the attention of the law. He made the vendor tell him who sold him the ring, and only after that was he able to collect any shred of composure. The vendor was not his lover's killer and not his target. Damien, the crazed maniac, was forced away. Unfortunately he could not have afforded to buy back the ring even if he hadn't been arrested, but from that moment on, his mission was clear. The flame of vengeance blazed like a bonfire over his sorrow. He would find the murderer who took that ring off his wife's dead hand and kill him. No threat of pain or death would stop him. Thus it was when he turned to darkness.
Damien knew no good god would have supported him in his murderous endeavor. He blamed them, all of them, for his foul fate and the persistence of wickedness and chaos that randomly took his beloved's life. He sought to profess himself to the other side, to plead with the supreme forces of evil and order to support his cause, to lend him aid. There was only one deity that suited him. To him, Damien had constructed a meager alter beneath his home where he offered prayer and worship. Time went by and Damien learned more of this newfound faith, but he drew no closer to finding his target. Truth be told, he had fallen far during his despair. He had already had a childhood fraught with difficulty. Without Saria, he had no shield or hope against a word that hated him for his bloodline. She had been the blessed one, leading him and others to the light of good. How she was everything to him. The fact she had been taken from him was a clear demonstration of how meaningless it had all been, that faith and hope were pointless and powerless. Their goddess was either careless... or powerless. Thus, he bared his vengeful desires to Asmodeus.
One night, Damien had a strange and powerful dream. In the dream, he was at his secret altar when a sense of dread came over him, and a shadowy figure with horns reached out a hand to him. He awoke with a start. Once he had calmed himself, he got up and went down to his shrine. Seeing nothing, he lit several candles and knelt down to meditate on the dream, pondering its meaning. Had it been a premonition? And omen? or was his sleeping mind merely envisioning his true heart's desire? After a few moments, the hair stood on the back of Damien's neck inexplicably. Without knowing why, he felt like he sensed a presence in the room with him. The air became heavy, the flames on the candles began to flare up, and the energy in the air was palpable. Something was directly behind him.
Fearful, yet excited with his heart racing, Damien turned around sharply. He saw the horned figure from his dream, clearly present and glaring down at him. This was an agent of his god. He was terrified, yet eager to prostrate himself before it. His body literally trembled all around him. He waited, cowering, until it would speak, or for whatever it would do to him.
The figure stepped out of the shadows and spoke in a soft velvety voice "There there child, your master has heard your pleas." The figure puts one foot on Damiens shoulder and kicked him onto his back. "The Father of Lies will have none of that pathetic groveling you call a proper prayer!"
Now on his back, propping himself up on his elbows, Damien got a good look at her. She was about 6 foot, with red skin and blonde curly hair that framed her face. The tiefling had horns that came from her forehead and swooped back, piercings all along both ears, a voluptuous body, and wearing a very loose, scant robe. A single dagger hung at her waist. He stared at her in awe, fear, and readiness. "Teach me, master. I beg of you."
"The Father of Lies is not without his mercy, he has sent me to guide you, but first you must prove worthy of my guidance. 'Beg.'You say? Well then..." She crouched down and cupped Damiens face in her hands. "I will teach you how to truly beg. Then, you know how to make others do the same." As she said this, she got right in his face, straddling him, and kissed him. Pulling away, she stood back up. "You will call me Mistress Revin, and you, my pupil, will do well to please me. For pleasing me is pleasing our Master."
The kiss was stolen from his lips without his consent, and thus Damien first realized that she could take whatever she wanted from him at any time. ...and he would give it to her. "Yes Mistress. I will obey you. Give me my vengeance, and I will give my soul."
A smile parted her thin lips. "Good boy, but you are a far way from vengence on anyone. You are to soft. I will break you of that. Asmodeous has no need for those who hesitate. Now, be a good pet and guide me to the nearest bar. I need a drink."
His heart filled with twisted gratitude and alacrity as he rose before her. Damien was at least her height, yet he felt is if she were far above him. This was a blesing of unparalleled magnitude and for Damien, it marked the point of no return. He knew he would do anything she told him. He craved this path, wanted the control that would be the end of the crimelords who were responsible for his beloved's death. The lesser evil that they were needed to be eliminated.
Upon enetering the bar with an attractive woman, most of the crowd stopped and stared. Men dropped their drinks. Womens jaws dropped, and to some of them this woman was the finest thing they had ever seen. It wasn't long after they sat down that a fumbling serving boy clambered over to their table and asked for drinks and returned promptly. The tiefling drank four drinks before she turned to Damien, "Tell me what is it you can do, exactly?"
Damien refused any drinks but took water. He was too intent upon his mission to exhibit any weakness and mental dullness. "I have magic in me, Mistress." He looked down and reached his hand toward her slowly to touch her skin. "And, this is its nature." With that, he showed her his bloodline power, causing an abhorrent chill to shriek its way into her body. He had no idea how she would react, but he meant to be direct despite the risk of rebuke.
"Oh how cute. You thought a little display of power would impress me." She snickered. "Let me show you what I can do!" With that, she stood up and walked over a wealthy bar patron. Without even touching him, he fell to his knees and began kissing her boot. Seconds later, another patron gave her his full coin purse before kicking the other man off of her. She promptly returned to the table with a sack full of coins. "All that, and without a drop of magic. Perhaps it is more then magic I should teach you, my lovely pet." She kissed Damien's lips.
She had kissed him again, and this time Damien was irritated at himself for being completely unable to resist. He felt no love for her, only admiration and devotion... but no. He was denying the obvious. She ignited a feeling in him that had been dead, murdered along with his wife. It was pure lust. He did not deny it as he contemplated a reply. "Your ability to manipulate and control is truly astonishing. I am eager to learn." Damien tried to reign in his growing passion. He heaved a breath. "You know you have me completely in your control. Please, do not seduce me further. I cannot concentrate."
"Oh but that is your first lesson." she retorted pleasantly. "Our emotions give us power. Had I been angry, instead of having that man kick the other off my boot, I would have had him run him through. Had I been feeling a bit more playful, I could have had that man take me right then and there, but these are things you must learn." She jabbed him in the chest. "Your rage burns deep within your heart, but that is not the only emotion you have. They are all still there, even love, as pitiful as a notion that it is." Revin tossed her hair and grabbed Damien's hand and pulled him up, just as the tavern erupted with the sound of music. "Come! Dance with me. Forget your sorrow and grief for one night. For tomorrow, the real training begins." A smile crossed her face, one Revin rarely gave, one that was sincere and almost warming.
Dance?? The notion was like a foreign language. An inanity! All out war ignited inside Damien as he fought with himself internally. he was in no mood to be dncing. still, she said he had to use his emotion, that he still had the capacity for love. Everything within him resisted her command, as she pulled him up and toward the dance floor, but he knew he had to obey. He had to finally wrest his will to cave in to despair and sulking and prove his ability to stand up and fight. Sorrow was for the weak. And so he began. Her smile was actually warm, mimicking the smile he had once loved. He would find his feet and dance, for her, for revenge, for his dark lord.
The crowd parted as Revin led Damien out onto the dance floor, and to anybody watching it was obvious she was leading. With fluidity and grace the tiefling made the dance seem like nothing more then a cake walk, others approached and began to ask her to dance she politely turned them away always with the same reason "I'm here with my lover." It was a lie but they didn't need to know that, she knew Damien was still centered on vengance but he still had far to much to learn. After the song ended she pulled him outside, it had started to rain, as they walked to Damien's home she asked a question she knew would catch him off guard "Tell me about you wife?"
It was either the newfound emotional strength that his mistress had instilled in his heart, or a coldness to his former emotions that she had given him, but in either case, it was enough to allow Damien to answer her question. His eyes became unfocused as he walked. "Her name was Saria. She was loving and joyous, innocent, yet surprisingly capable. She was a follower of Iomedae, leading others to the light. She was my heart."
The human's mental stability trembled.
Revin cringed at the mention of Iomedae, she wasn't a huge fan of any of the "good" gods. She could feel her companions sorrow, his grief and his grip on sanity failing, she pitied the man but at the same time she knew she had a job to do. The tiefling gripped his hand tight and held it all the way home, still giving off the appearance of lovers, upon reaching his home she turned to him, stroking his face before embracing him "I'm sorry for your loss, but their is hope, if you do well you will see her again. However, there is a threshold you must cross. Are you willing to do so?"
"She was murdered pointlessly, but brutally." He grimaced. "I found her body in an ally, the ring I gave her was stolen. She was a causality of the crime in the city, merely caught at the wrong place at the wrong time. I don't care what it takes, but I will give anything to avenge her. Iomedae be damned."
"So be it. I will teach you what I know. Once your vengeance is complete, payment will be due." She pulled him tighter thinking what would have happened if she had met a man this dedicated. "You need rest." she stroked his face once more. "I must warn you the training will be brutal and strict. Are you sure you want to do this? The contract still has not been made."
Damien bowed. "I do not care what becomes of me after this. I am already dead. I will serve no god except Asmodeus. I foresee his victory. I long for him to ascend and subjugate this pathetic world. For this, he shall ever have my loyalty. Do not underestimate the heat of my desire, mistress. I have lot all sense of mercy and will not desist in my training."
The cleric was slightly taken aback from all of the, usually people didn't come over to the following of Asmodeous without some more prompting, but this man came willingly, much as she had many years ago. But today Revin felt odd and out of place. This man who she had only known a breif time was already far more powerful then she was. She didn't know how it could be possible. There was something about him. The first kiss she gave him was just her normal playful self. The second was different, and as Revin kissed him a third time, she felt something she hadn't felt in a long time from herself, passion. She abruptly pulled away, thankfully her skin was red to hide the blushing. What had this man done to her? "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend, I should go now." Revin turned to go but deep down hoped Damien would stop her.
Damien did not stop her. He was cold as ice.
So, he didn't stop her. Soon she would change that. In his heart, he lusted for her. That much Revin knew, but the real question was, did she lust for him as well? Was it something else? The rain was pouring as the tiefling walked the streets. Several inns turned her down either because they were full or they didn't like her appearance. She could have worked her magic but she didn't waste her time, after a hour of wandering she returned to a familiar house, fulling expecting to find its occupant asleep. She opened the door and quietly shut it behind her, she supposed Damien wouldn't mind if she lit a fire and warmed herself up, after all where else was she going to go, back to Hell, the flames of Hell didn't give off the heat of a real fire, or a lover for the night.
Damien returned home to find his place... which used to be Saria's place, unexpectedly warm and lit with a fire in the hearth. The house was a disaster, as one might expect would result from severe depression. Without caring what intruder might lie within, he walked past the corner to see his mistress by the fire. He approached, and knelt beside her, staring at the flames. Her presence was irresistible. "Mistress. I have one request." He turned to her, placing his hand down to the floor before her wanting nothing but to surrender to her physically. "Please, teach me to pray."
"Very well, but first I must get out of these wet robes. Do you think you have anything to fit me? If not I'm no stranger to being naked in a strange mans home, especially one as promising as you." She winked at the young man before removing her robes and letting them fall to the floor with a loud plop. Revin looked back at Damien, by now he would have noticed the tail, "well of course hes gonna notice it" she screamed mentally "your using it to pick up your dagger after all." The cleric knelt beside Damien and began to show him the way she had been taught to pray, drawing a few drops of blood from each of them she led him in a prayer to Asmodeous, after she was done she passed him the dagger. "Now, your turn."
Seeing her perfect, naked body was painfully driving him, yet the love-lost human dared not move from his position. Damien had completely forgotten she had asked about clothing as he stared at her. He watched her kneel, entranced. He gave her his hand. Only the pain of her dagger pricking him seemed to shake any sense back into him. He blinked as he watched the red rivulet flow. With their blood together, they prayed, and Damien felt ever moreso in communion with his dark deity. He accepted the dagger from her and this time cut himself of his own volition, near the cut she had given him. The act of bleeding himself willingly held spiritual meaning. It gave weight to his words when he was nothing more than a weak mortal convert. It was willingness to sacrifice, willingness to die in service. He felt a power suddenly fill him and he opened his arms, lifting his head back, to accept it. "My god!" He gasped.
Revin was pleased, she could see the same devotion she had gained when she went through her first ritual. She had noticed his eyes linger over her body. She didn't mind, for she knew what she was. Besides a cleric and sorceress, she was a woman, and a whore at that. When he had settled from the ecstasy of the ritual Revin beckoned him over. "It is no crime to look, my pet, no crime to enjoy the sights before you. I don't bite...much." The tielfing winked at the young man.
The two consummated their lust for each other.
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RomanAria πππ πππ¦ππππ πππππ¦πππ£ππ₯πͺ
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Name: Alyssia Rosethorn
Appearance: A woman who is quite short, about 4 feet 11 inches tall. She is rather thin, as would be expected of a woman who grew up on the street. What is surprising about her is that though she isnβt βbigβ in any sense of the word, she is strong and her muscles are toned. Her skin is tan and even in hue; her dark brown hair is usually pulled tight into a braid, with a strap of leather with spikes on it woven through it, to discourage people from grabbing her by the hair. Her ears are noticeably pointed, and so are her teeth to a slight degree; her slightly slanted eyes are a very pretty dark green, though if the light angle is just right it seems like they flash almost reddishβ¦
Age: 20
Gender: Female
Race: 4/8 human, 3/8 wood elf (with 1/8 of dark elf (her great grandfather was one))
Rank: Templar
Personality: A levelheaded, calm woman who knows how to survive and run a family, something you wouldnβt expect from a barely-twenty-year-old. She cares mostly for her own survival and but will help others whenever she can after her own needs are met. She has often been known to give a large portion of her salary to the hungry beggars on the street, having a soft spot for them, because she once was one of them.
Weapons: Daggers, longbow
Magic: A bit of restoration magicβshe has a lot of raw power but no training at all in how to use it. Usually itβs only use had been in healing cuts and scrapes from sparring matches and ensuring that an accident wouldn't cause her to follow in her mother's footsteps.
Other: N/A
Appearance: A woman who is quite short, about 4 feet 11 inches tall. She is rather thin, as would be expected of a woman who grew up on the street. What is surprising about her is that though she isnβt βbigβ in any sense of the word, she is strong and her muscles are toned. Her skin is tan and even in hue; her dark brown hair is usually pulled tight into a braid, with a strap of leather with spikes on it woven through it, to discourage people from grabbing her by the hair. Her ears are noticeably pointed, and so are her teeth to a slight degree; her slightly slanted eyes are a very pretty dark green, though if the light angle is just right it seems like they flash almost reddishβ¦
Age: 20
Gender: Female
Race: 4/8 human, 3/8 wood elf (with 1/8 of dark elf (her great grandfather was one))
Rank: Templar
Personality: A levelheaded, calm woman who knows how to survive and run a family, something you wouldnβt expect from a barely-twenty-year-old. She cares mostly for her own survival and but will help others whenever she can after her own needs are met. She has often been known to give a large portion of her salary to the hungry beggars on the street, having a soft spot for them, because she once was one of them.
Alyssia was born to a human prostitute andβ¦ well, sheβs not exactly sure who her father was. Obviously a travelling elf, but there were so many of them going through the tavern that they couldnβt exactly figure out which one was her dad. Alyssiaβs mother was sixteen years old when she was born; it seemed that Aly was going to be killed, as any infant would be. But then the house owner noticed how beautiful she was, even as a mere infant, and decided to keep her as a βfuture investmentβ of sorts.
It was one day, when Aly was ten (and already quite a fair young lady), that raiders stormed the tavern. Apparently, the owner had cheated one too many times and he was going to pay in blood. They killed everyone inside; Aly herself was only spared because she had been sent to the market.
As she saw the wreckage of the tavern, and thus everything that she knew, tears sprang to her eyes. There was a little tug on her belt and she looked down to see a tiny girl, she couldnβt have been more than five, who asked, βMum, ken I has a copper? I be hungee, and my sisters be too.β
βYouβre very brave, to ask someone like me for help. But I think I can give you more than a copper. I donβt have anywhere to go myself, so I might as well help you.β
Over the next eight years she learned skills from other kids on the street. How to pickpocket, and steal, and most of all how to fight. With fists, with daggers, with a rusty screw, with a stick. She learned how to cheat, and seduce men for a little extra pocket change.
Then when she was eighteen years old, she happened into the wrong place at the wrong time. Four elvish βtravelersβ, who wanted to strike a deal of sorts. She was to travel with them, be a companion, and provide βentertainmentβ, until they tired of herβ¦ βservice.β In return they would teach her how to shoot and fight like an elf, not like a dirty human streetchild. Of course, if she refused, theyβd kill every beggar in the city, they said.
And she believed them, so she went along, for two bitter, painful years. They did make good on their promise to teach her, and did not mistreat her so badly as she was mistreated as a kitchen girl. What was different, what hurt her now was the⦠type of service they requested. The last time she had ever served she had been a little girl, and now she found that, being a woman, it was extremely different.
They traveled along the country for two years, the four rowdy elven men and their demure little maid. In that time she never learned their names, never learned what they were doing. (and they somehow concealed any βbusinessβ they might have done in the towns from her) Then, they left her at the gates of her home city with no further explanation, but a substantial gift of money, and were gone.
Now twenty years old, and confident in her abilities, the young womanβs first stop was the Templarβs office; she volunteered herself for service. And though the recruiter was somewhat taken aback by the short woman, either the archerβs gear or the multitude of concealed daggers must have convinced them that she was serious.
It was one day, when Aly was ten (and already quite a fair young lady), that raiders stormed the tavern. Apparently, the owner had cheated one too many times and he was going to pay in blood. They killed everyone inside; Aly herself was only spared because she had been sent to the market.
As she saw the wreckage of the tavern, and thus everything that she knew, tears sprang to her eyes. There was a little tug on her belt and she looked down to see a tiny girl, she couldnβt have been more than five, who asked, βMum, ken I has a copper? I be hungee, and my sisters be too.β
βYouβre very brave, to ask someone like me for help. But I think I can give you more than a copper. I donβt have anywhere to go myself, so I might as well help you.β
Over the next eight years she learned skills from other kids on the street. How to pickpocket, and steal, and most of all how to fight. With fists, with daggers, with a rusty screw, with a stick. She learned how to cheat, and seduce men for a little extra pocket change.
Then when she was eighteen years old, she happened into the wrong place at the wrong time. Four elvish βtravelersβ, who wanted to strike a deal of sorts. She was to travel with them, be a companion, and provide βentertainmentβ, until they tired of herβ¦ βservice.β In return they would teach her how to shoot and fight like an elf, not like a dirty human streetchild. Of course, if she refused, theyβd kill every beggar in the city, they said.
And she believed them, so she went along, for two bitter, painful years. They did make good on their promise to teach her, and did not mistreat her so badly as she was mistreated as a kitchen girl. What was different, what hurt her now was the⦠type of service they requested. The last time she had ever served she had been a little girl, and now she found that, being a woman, it was extremely different.
They traveled along the country for two years, the four rowdy elven men and their demure little maid. In that time she never learned their names, never learned what they were doing. (and they somehow concealed any βbusinessβ they might have done in the towns from her) Then, they left her at the gates of her home city with no further explanation, but a substantial gift of money, and were gone.
Now twenty years old, and confident in her abilities, the young womanβs first stop was the Templarβs office; she volunteered herself for service. And though the recruiter was somewhat taken aback by the short woman, either the archerβs gear or the multitude of concealed daggers must have convinced them that she was serious.
Weapons: Daggers, longbow
Magic: A bit of restoration magicβshe has a lot of raw power but no training at all in how to use it. Usually itβs only use had been in healing cuts and scrapes from sparring matches and ensuring that an accident wouldn't cause her to follow in her mother's footsteps.
Other: N/A
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GM
TheDarkTemplar Knight-Captain
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2 yrs ago
So as I was updating the Character list, some curse from the gods deleted the Monsters post....this is going to take quite some time to redo but I'll get it done eventually.
Snarfulblast I'm a Dwarf! Ya bloody idjit.
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7 yrs ago
boomlover The godfather of explosions
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6 yrs ago
@Wraithblade6nice seraph of the end signaturw.
1x Thank
OtomostheCrazy The Impatient Patience of Fulfilled Nothingness
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27 days ago
The Impatient Patience of Fulfilled Nothingness
2382 posts
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27 days ago
in 3963 days
oops...
boomlover The godfather of explosions
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6 yrs ago
@OtomostheCrazy wut?
OtomostheCrazy The Impatient Patience of Fulfilled Nothingness
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27 days ago
The Impatient Patience of Fulfilled Nothingness
2382 posts
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27 days ago
in 3963 days
@boomlover two things:
1. I posted an unrelated OOC post here instead of somewhere else.
2. All my post progress for this IC was lost because the page reloaded by accident.
1. I posted an unrelated OOC post here instead of somewhere else.
2. All my post progress for this IC was lost because the page reloaded by accident.
1x Laugh
Snarfulblast I'm a Dwarf! Ya bloody idjit.
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7 yrs ago
@OtomostheCrazyOuch!!!
boomlover The godfather of explosions
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6 yrs ago
@OtomostheCrazy you have my sympathies
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TheDarkTemplar Knight-Captain
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2 yrs ago
Alright so after Marcus and Evelyn talk you guys want me to skip ahead to the night of the meeting or naw?
boomlover The godfather of explosions
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6 yrs ago
@TheDarkTemplar wait a second werent we gonna do that thing in the pub?
coGM
Zelosse The Entity
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3 yrs ago
Alright so after Marcus and Evelyn talk you guys want me to skip ahead to the night of the meeting or naw?
Does this mean another collab?
coGM
Zelosse The Entity
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3 yrs ago
@TheDarkTemplar so no collab with a touching reunion between red, Sunderland, Marcus, and a dwarven species nobody has ever seen?
RomanAria πππ πππ¦ππππ πππππ¦πππ£ππ₯πͺ
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3 mos ago
Can someone explain what's going on IC? I've been trying to read a bit to get an idea of what's going on but there's an awful lot to read...
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