This story begins in the middle. Where the characters involved have all faced their trials and tribulations. Heroes of legend, saints of old, champions of glory and valor. They are known to all, admired, feared, hated, and much more. Through their deeds, devotion, or perchance by sheer luck upon them, these living legends were blessed by a god, a god who became their patron and kept watch over their actions. A shared spark of divinity granted to them sometime between then and now, as they became partly divine by the gift above all others. Yet, at the end of it all, after the hero's quest is over, what comes to mind? After the final deed is done, the last enemy vanquished and all the people sing of your tales from every tavern or chapel, what is left to do? What endgame is there for one who walks as a god amongst mortals? Where does one such person Go?
So They go to Hell.
Hello and welcome to Abandon All Hope. A classic dungeon-crawl styled roleplay. This Thread is the first of 3, Segments, which shall hopefully cover the first four layers of hell, moving at approximately 1 layer every 2 months or so depending on activity levels and number of players.
The Goal of this roleplay is simple: Become a God. We will begin with demigods, beings who are blessed by a patron god to share some aspect of that god's domain and powers. The world itself is an open world/sandbox environment, however the setting is relatively static, although changing layer by layer. So while you may make anything you want to let your imagination run wild, the general concept of Hell is firmly described below, as well as several other processes to mention when appropriate. However most of the thread is fluid in what is considered acceptable such that everyone can partake in shaping the world and story.
The roleplay will be generally linear, although players can strongly influence what happens in the story with microcosmic plots, the plot will move along towards a definite end goal of obtaining the shiny boon at the of it all to ascend to godhood. Any subplots can be explored, although in no way should we expect the characters suddenly deciding to go back up a level in a dungeon, as the rules of Hell prevent this. Only death can be an escape to hell, or perhaps you shall succumb to the temptations of hell yourself?
Due to the nature of this roleplay, this is a PC vs GM driven plotline, hence PC interactions are vital! I do want to have everyone post at least once before a GM post is made. Hence to not bog down anyone or rush anyone, I have decided to make a simple rule to help coordinate engagement and activity.
3 posts Maximum per Person per Week (7 days). 1 Post Minimum per Person per week and half (Ten days). GM controls PC if is no post for 3 Weeks (21 days) Inactivity is set at no post for 1 month (30 days)
This is designed to keep a reasonable pace as the plod goes along, and makes it difficult for one person to breeze through everything without letting others partake in the interactions. It also abolishes the need for a strict posting order and thus slow everything down as real-life busyness occurs.
Just a few basic rules and housekeeping things to keep in the back of your mind. Conveniently there are Nine of them for you to remember. Call them the Nine Guidelines.
1-Follow all RP guild rules. Usually a good idea.
2-This is supposedly a High-Casual RP, whatever that implies.
3-If you want to indulge in some Pg13+ activities, please use the PM system or else make only a subtle suggestion with a properly done innuendo.
4-If you've read these rules, please do not put anything which suggests you have read these rules in your application, I find that system very silly and enforces nothing. I trust you.
5-Please do not metagame, information can be obtained by simply asking, but please do not abuse knowledge without having a logical, reasonable method of having your character either find out or deduce.
6-Powerplay if you want, just know the consequences will send you straight to hell.
7-Godmodding? Don't even think about it, you're not gods yet.
8-Keep OOC and IC relationships separate, unless you're both friends of course.
9- Have Fun. I will enforce this rule with an iron fist. Seriously do not test me here, I take having fun very seriously.
Call me what you will, a ferryman of souls, I am the spirit of the river. They have called me many names throughout the ages, but I simply carry the damned to their damnation. The Judges Three deem them mine, and tell me where each soul must go for their punishment. And for a single golden coin, placed into the mouth of the river, I shall guide you too. All fresh souls enter me, and through me leave to live within their assigned hell.
Into the Cave, follow the path of the frozen river, the ice cracking beneath your feet, into the First Layer of hell…
The First layer of hell is cold and barren, known to mortals as Limbo. It is where the souls of the dead who had neither a strong desire in life nor faithful devotion to the any of the Gods enter and remain for all eternity. It is in this layer where the “sin” of Void is embodied in the incorporeal spirits which haunted the frozen woodland shores unable to grasp the physical world around them. For they were deemed empty in life, now their purpose shall be emptiness in death. Although they are able to take control of a soulless husk, a temporary vessel of shambling flesh, they cannot hold on to this brief meaningful existence for long before their vessel freezes solid in the unyielding winter of the void. The Duke of this realm is known as the Winter King, a powerful specter who is able to possess more than just an empty husk, taking a body for his own to control as the sole authority of this layer.
Where the Ice begins to melt and the frosted leaves turn to green pines, the slow river shall deliver you into the Second Layer of hell...
The Second layer of hell is cool and lush, seemingly pristine in natural beauty. It is where souls of the dead who placed aesthetics and the self above all else go to view their wickedness in their own reflections. It is in this layer where the sin of Pride is embodied by the beautiful citizens who are seemingly free to live throughout the realm. They are attractive in physical appearance with few blemishes or flaws, and yet beneath the wondrous exterior lies the rotten souls which are revealed in their reflections upon a mirror or water’s surface. Their punishment is to never see their beauty for themselves, and though their ageless bodies never decay and are preserved for all to gaze upon in splendor, they will never see themselves as truly beautiful. No, for in this layer of great artists and fine nobles, amongst the perfect mockery of heaven in the lush Zen gardens of perfection and shrines of tranquility, everyone shall be revealed by the truth of a reflecting pool. There is absolutely nothing natural about this layer, everything is forced into an aesthetic work of art, the stones, the bushes, the trees, the flowers, everything is set to appear natural although far from it. The Duke of this realm is known as the Glorious Emperor, a majestic amalgam of the best-looking souls patched together as an unnatural golem of flesh, unquestionably the most beautiful thing in this layer as he beheads anything else more attractive to add to himself.
Follow the quiet river to where the unnatural flora end, where the leaves which fall into it are no longer cut and fabricated to where the warm sands meet your toes in the shallow waters, welcome to the Third Layer of hell…
The Third layer of hell is warm and arid, exotic and enchanting. It is where the souls of the dead who gave into their carnal lusts and sought pleasures of the flesh far too much are committed to their indulgent punishment. Here in the mecca of pleasures, the flesh markets sell slaves and dismembered parts of slaves for bidders who swap them for other slave and parts. The still-feeling parts, where pleasure and pain become inseparable physical torment. Deviants from both sides of each extreme, the slavers and the enslaved, everything carnal imaginable done here within this layer. Bodies heavily modified by the flesh trades, monstrosities of intimate pleasures made from the butchery of hundreds of bodies, each connected to the original owners sewn together to become a machine of absolute carnality. That is their punishment and fate, for they so openly gave themselves up to so many others, so to shall their bodies be torn apart into as many pieces and experienced by many. The Duke of this realm is known as the Pleasure Sultan, a ghoul who literally feast upon the flesh of his harems to take their forms as he pleases, taking their identity all the while letting them feel their slow digestion as they become part of him and add to his repertoire of bodies to choose from.
Follow the warm waters and sands along the path, to where the sands become gold which taint the waters into a murk, and the air no longer bears the perfumed scent it did, there amongst the golden sands enter the Fourth Layer of hell…
The Fourth Layer of hell is hot and unrelenting, but rich in wealth beyond description. It is where the souls of the dead who pursued wealth for its own sake go to lose their worth and value. Another marketplace is found in the sun-baked city, one where precious jewels and metals are easily found displayed on the streets as thieves and traders eye their wares carefully plotting against each other to amass the greatest hoard. Here too maintaining the order are sell-swords and mercenaries, and others who sold their personal skills for great gains, alongside the bankers who run the only currency fit for a place where gold is abundantly found: drinkable water. Yet all the treasures found here turn to sand within a day to be scattered upon the desert winds, as the curse of this layer forces new mines to scour the desert for caches of gold, silver, and gems hidden within the sand as fitting punishment for those who sought to possess material goods. The Duke of this realm is known as the Golden Pharaoh, an ancient mummified ruler who was buried with all his possessions in the grand pyramid which the marketplaces surround, controlling all the sand of his afterlife dominion as an extension of himself as he claims all the treasures beneath.
Where the tainted metal waters end, and the sands turn to solid stone, where the river continues now entrenched upon the high marble pillars, the stone markers alongside the aqueduct will tell you how far you must walk to arrive into the heart of the Fifth Layer of hell…
The Fifth Layer of hell is temperate, but filled with music of battle and fanfare. It is where the souls of the dead who were pugnacious go to join the never-ending fray. The realm is filled with flying crows feasting upon the still-living fallen in the paved streets where constant skirmishes pit soldiers and generals against barbarians and warlords. Despite the constant fighting, the architecture of the realm still manages to remain, great stone blocks and pillars of marble stand scattered around the paved roads which lead towards the middle of the layer. Within the center of all the war camps lies the arena, a grand stadium filled with the best warriors who survived the constant wars outside, only to be pit against each other in combat for nothing more than sport. The rules of this realm make the battle eternal, for the fighters never die, but instead are submerged in the pool of bodies and blood once they can no longer fight as the river of souls is directed to wash over the Arena every hour and drain into the next layer picking up all the blood of war. The wrathful here are preserved in blood split by so many, as a representation of the blood they helped shed in life. The Duke of this realm is known as the Wolf Caesar, a werewolf who oversees the arena upon his throne in human form, though he unleashes the inner beast when he bores of simply watching.
The bloody river ends in the sewage drain, a metal sieve to strain the gurgling bodies from entering the next layer which presents itself as a stinking pit, where the sunlight fades and the waters fall into the swallowing night, enter the Sixth Layer of hell…
The Sixth Layer of hell is dark, and its darkness is only broken by the storm clouds which cast their lightning in flashes to illuminate the dark grounds. It is where the souls of the dead who were far too epicureans in their consumption of food and drink thrive in the refuse of the layers above. The cool air half-preserves everything which funnels in from the layers above, refrigerating a land of muck and filth of things half-rotten. This is the punishment for those who lived to eat, their torment to feed upon the bottom as much as they so desire, to fill their continuous hunger with such slop. They have become literal pigs here, and like all pigs are destined for slaughter as they are butchered in the great stone castle illuminated by the storms in the background as the high gothic caps covered in the continual downpour. Within the stone walls are the cannibals who ate their own in life, and are fed the damned pigs, but even they are food too as their bodies are slowly drained of blood in great pools and vats. This layer is the epitome of the food chain, eat and be eaten. The Duke of this realm is known as the Tsar of Blood, an eloquent vampire seemingly out of place in such a mess, yet the cosmopolite smile on his lips bare his fangs which shall always savor the farming system he rules over.
The very earth of the last layer swallows the stagnant pools, fall into the mire and perhaps you too shall be consumed into the underground where the stones shall sieve the waters, sink down and behold the Seventh Layer of hell…
The Seventh layer of hell is tropical and humid, overgrowth of vines and plants entangle the trees. It is where the souls of the dead who chose to do nothing with their abilities go to find their just reward. The languid jungle is still, for the reason that within the first sunset of a new soul’s arrival into this layer, their bodies will turn to stone, forever locked in the position the sun set upon it. Trapped, but still feeling every basic need and sensation within their stone prisons. In life they did nothing, even when they could, and it was their inaction which brings upon them their equivalent damnation. In the middle of this layer lies a single stone temple, a ziggurat with a multitude of steps reaching towards the sky as if an attempt made to escape this layer. Each stone brick is made and placed by the penitent souls who see their last minutes of movement upon the steps, carried with them as they longed for the top. The Duke of this realm is known as the Ancient Idol, a stone carving which sits atop the ziggurat and oversees the jungle, turning all those which gazes upon it into stone.
The jungle’s river runs ends here, in a crystalline lake, dive deep into its languid waters and breathe in the waters to die, surface upon the other side born into the fountain which decorates the Eight Layer of hell …
The Eight layer of hell is enclosed by walls, towers of books upon shelves and stacks make for the landscapes of this layer. It is where the souls of the dead who sought forbidden knowledge, knowledge which would rival the gods themselves, go to continue their fruitless search. Here the infinitesimal shelves hold every book in existence, recording every thought and idea, every utterance made or written word, as one of the greatest collections of cosmic knowledge in existence. Yet in the irony of it all, the damned go searching through the volumes and tomes, cursed to spend all eternity looking for the one truth which would release them of their burden as the sea of information conceals the only scrap of knowledge which matters. In the center of the grand library, is a single well, from which all the waters run into, and it is water from this well which supplies a small sapling which grows around it, the only organic piece of nature which clings on to survival against the clockwork mechanisms which grind the gears up and down to assign the books their proper place. The Duke of this realm is known as the Grand Archmagus, a lich who pursued his master of all arcane arts and turned to necromancy for a path for immortality to be a god.
Deeper still, down into the wellspring, the final layer, burning torment greets you as the horde of demons, fiends and devils scramble to escape the infernal realm: The Ninth Layer of hell …
The Ninth layer of hell is the original layer. The last remains of what it was to be, a burning lake of fire and endless suffering. The souls of the dead here are lost, incinerated in the flames and reborn as demons, fiends, or devils in accordance to the blackness of their soul. Their punishment is simple, for they had no sense of humanity in their life, they shall be stripped of such treacherous guise and be given a more fitting form to live in this prison forever. The Duke of this realm is known as the Lord of the Damned, but little else is known about this ancient entity who slumbers submerged in the lake of lava.
This is the fun part. For you begin with a character that already has history and some great amount of power. Here the options are widespread and numerous, limited by only a few things and your imagination. As a rule of thumb, if it makes sense and is within reason, I will accept it. There are however some immersion contextual elements to be integrated mentioned below:
The time period is generally restricted to generic fantasy "Middle Earth" there is no particularly set time period per say as it ranges from the dark ages, till early steampunk. Most people whoever do not have access to high technology levels and hence are set in the Middle Ages. The exception to this would be anyone favored by the Gods of Invention or Time Domains who would have reasonable access to future technology due to their Patron god's dominion over these aspects. So if such a demigod exists, they could have modern-day tech, to a limited degree.
The pantheon of Gods are up for grabs, there are myriad of Gods which can be either based off of real world mythos or made to custom fit your character. The Gods of course were also "Created" by this ascension process, hence why so many of them may exist. This also explains why the Pantheon is so varied and vast as there is almost a God for every Domain, and every thing may become a Domain. Although some overlap does occur yielding some interesting results, as a general sense try to avoid overlaps but I am sure we can work things out in the roleplay.
One last note, due to the nature of this roleplay, travelling companions, such as mounts, pets, familiars etc, shall be treated as a second or secondary character if they maintain their own sentience beyond the usual scope of what would be considered basic instinct. This is required as Hell may begin to corrupt these, even though it is usually not reserved for such beings.
I believe we have enough to begin the drafting of the world. If there are any questions please ask them here. Else, depending on the turnout, the first IC GM post shall begin Next Monday Night.
Patron God: The winged general , sigil is a golden eagle holding a lance and shield Patrons Domain: Warfare
Aspect of Patrons Domain: Cavalry
Appearance:Adrian is a strong man of well-toned musculature. He stands at 1 meter 75 and weighs in at 90 kilograms of muscle and bad temper. He has black hair and green eyes. The eyes flare up with a golden glow when Adrain exerts his supernatural power. General Apparel:Always dressed in uniform, Adrian's ensemble consists of a segmented platemail breastplate emblazoned with the sigil of the winged general, Relatively standard greaves and sabots, and A decorated helmet that quite resembles the beak of a bird of prey. Armor/Weapons/Equipment:Adrian is encased in the aforementioned armor, along with a shield in his left arm.. When it comes to weapons, he primarily wields a winged lance gifted to him by his patron. The lance is a weapon of great power, when it is brought to bear on an enemy, sparks of lightning envelop the head. It is however, still a weapon unfit for close-quarters combat. For this purpose, Adrian also has a cavalry saber of comparable quality. Magical/Divine Abilities:At Adrian's beckon, he can summon a phantasmal horse of golden light. This horse is not a living entity of its own, but simply a manifestation of Adrain's power. It is for all intents and purposes a trained warhorse otherwise. It shows absolute loyalty to its summoner and has strength and endurance to rival even the hardiest and strongest breeds of mortal horses.
Personality:Adrian is a boisterous and confident individual. He believes himself to be a peerless cavalier and one of the best warriors of the world. This worldview is unsurprising given little has ever happened to challenge the notion. He sees the world as a place filled with corruption and injustice, to be crushed under the hooves of his horse for the cause of good. He himself is of course an incorruptible warrior and defender of the innocent.
Likes:Justice, respect, adoration and honorable combat. Dislikes: Cowardice, injustice , people that give in to despair. Fears: The idea of enemies that cannot fall to the sword Aspirations:To become an unstoppable force of good, destined to drive evil from the world forever.
Relationships: None that would be relevant to the task at hand Allies:His patron. Also the great warriors of the steppes, who consider him the avatar of the golden general. Not that it will matter down in hell. Enemies: As a demigod, he stands opposed to the pearled one, god of deserts and fire, and patron to the peoples that tore down an old empire. It was Adrian who led the charge that broke the desert hordes spine forever, and he has never been forgiven for it. Loyalties:Adrian has a strict adherence to hierarchy and will often try to form a rudimentary one when he's out of his element.He expects obedience from those 'below' him, but will bow to those he considers his superior. As he is a warrior without peers, one could see how this could become a problem.
History: Adrian began his life as the son of a peasant farmer. Life was simple, days passed in a routine. Every autumn the lords came for their rightful part of the harvest, every winter they would remain with more than enough to survive with.
And then, as is often the case, things changed. In this case, the change was the coming of war. This was Adrain's fifteenth year. It seemed like nothing but yet another distant event until the autumn came again. This time the part of the harvest taken was quite a bit larger. for the good of the country. They said. The winter was harsh and ruthless that year. With stubborn hardiness, Adrian and his family survived. They were not particularly angry. After all, only a fool would argue against how these things always went. In that same vein, they also did not complain when the army came back in the summer, demanding Adrian pack his belongings and throw himself into the merciless machine of war. He had been raised a proud countryman, so there were little complaints. He said goodbye to his parents, who looked at him leave with pride... And perhaps also a bit of worry, but was such not to be expected of concerned and wholesome parents?
War was an unkind master to Adrian. The mellow routine of country life was a sharp contrast of the iron-hard discipline in the army. No longer did he wake up to the sound of birds singing. No longer could he loiter in the fields when his work was done. Those things had been replaced with signal horns and barracks respectively. Still, the discipline forged him from an easygoing country kid to a disciplined soldier. Always orderly walking in lockstep along his comrades.
Of course, as a peasant, he was far from worthy of riding the mighty steeds that the Royal cavalry used. Nevertheless, he was always impressed to see them in action. The way in which they scattered the enemy as a single unit. Somehow, he survived a full year of war as a simple foot soldier. And it was on the eve of the last battle of the year that his destiny came calling.
It was but a spur of the moment. The general was thrownout of the saddle by an opportunistic enemy, and Adrian was close enough to intercede. As a footstool's, all he was armed with was a spear and his training. Despite this, he threw himself between his superior and the enemy cavalry. Call it skill, call it luck, but despite his inferior equipment and unfavorable position, he managed to drive his spear through the cavalier leading the charge.
It was like a sea parting. The sight of their commander getting impaled by a mere commoner sowed the seeds of doubt amongst the sand-people. And the quick counterattack only served to further sow panic amongst their ranks. Adrian's act of spontaneous heroism had earned him both the attention and the respect of the top commanders. And so they granted his one wish. To serve as a cavalryman.
Of course, there was some opposition to the idea of a commoner riding in the cavalry, but few complained. After all, no one wanted to be that one guy who complained about the hero that had saved the day.
Winter came, and the war ground to a halt. It was a time of training, of regrouping, and of reunions with family dearly missed. At first, they did not recognize the proud mounted man clad in armor. But then they realized this man was their son, hardened in the crucible of war.
Though he could only see them for a week, it was a week of rejoicing. Of simple happiness, and of excited tales of the prestige and power he had earned by his hard work alone. He reveled in the pride his parents showed, and why should he not. He had gone above and beyond the call of duty to the country.
At the week's end. Adrian whispered a goodbye to his home for a second time and dutifully returned to the field of battle. His comrades in arms were already waiting for him. The first engagement with the enemy was marked by a favorable wind in the back. The day ended on what would be a year of fortune and victory.
Adrian's part in this year of conquest was large. He had grown to become respected by his peers and his superiors. Always leading the charge, always boldly breaking through where no normal man would even consider attacking. Even though he was of lowborn blood, heralds and bards sung of his exploits all the same.
Now, wars in this time were often short affairs, not often taking longer than a year or two. Despite this, the enemy did not want to give up the rich lands they were being driven from without a fight. A last stand was made The sultan himself had come to bolster his troops morale.
When the horns of battle sounded, Adrian's purpose became clear more than ever. He spurred his horse onwards into a charge. He leveled his lance to striking height and drove it through the ranks of infantry, through the cavalry that he had clashed with so often, and finally through the heart of the sultan himself.
His leading the charge had profoundly broken the sand-people. In mass, they abandoned their position. They ran for their lives even as they were scythed down by the dozen by Adrian and his comrades. Nevermore would they have to fear the menace from the desert.
And it was victorious and resplendent that they marched into the city they had come to liberate. The people sang praises to the victorious army. After all, they had been as slaves to the oppressors from the desert, and now they would be free. Leading the victory parade was Adrian himself, Helmeted and stoic, he silently basked in the glory.
The evening was long and loud. The victorious men partied the night away, drunk as much on their victory as they were on the fine wines of the city. Adrian partook in the celebrations, but rather humbly so for one of his rank. He had not forgotten about his humble origins. At least not at this time.
That morning, Adrian went to marvel at the wonders of the city he had helped liberate. For some reason, he felt himself called to the great temple in the center of the city. Clerics and priests were hard at work casting away the heretical symbols of the sand-people's heathen god. The great domed temple would soon be restored in its old glory.
He found himself in the middle of the temple when the priests unfurled a great and impressive tapestry. A gust of wind catched it and stretched it to its full length. Something vast and mighty could be felt in the temple. The sun stood high in the sky, and the rays of light shining through the stained-glass windows all converged in the middle of the temple. Everyone else felt what was happening too. Everyone kneeled, like a soldier showing respect to their superior. Though Adrian did not fall completely to the ground. He knew in his heart... His valor and determination had made him as an equal.
It was that day the golden general of the steppe peoples bequeathed a spark of his power on a follower most favored by him.
Patron God: The winged general , sigil is a golden eagle holding a lance and shield Patrons Domain: Warfare
Aspect of Patrons Domain: Cavalry
Appearance:Adrian is a strong man of well-toned musculature. He stands at 1 meter 75 and weighs in at 90 kilograms of muscle and bad temper. He has black hair and green eyes. The eyes flare up with a golden glow when Adrain exerts his supernatural power. General Apparel:Always dressed in uniform, Adrian's ensemble consists of a segmented platemail breastplate emblazoned with the sigil of the winged general, Relatively standard greaves and sabots, and A decorated helmet that quite resembles the beak of a bird of prey. Armor/Weapons/Equipment:Adrian is encased in the aforementioned armor, along with a shield in his left arm.. When it comes to weapons, he primarily wields a winged lance gifted to him by his patron. The lance is a weapon of great power, when it is brought to bear on an enemy, sparks of lightning envelop the head. It is however, still a weapon unfit for close-quarters combat. For this purpose, Adrian also has a cavalry saber of comparable quality. Magical/Divine Abilities:At Adrian's beckon, he can summon a phantasmal horse of golden light. This horse is not a living entity of its own, but simply a manifestation of Adrain's power. It is for all intents and purposes a trained warhorse otherwise. It shows absolute loyalty to its summoner and has strength and endurance to rival even the hardiest and strongest breeds of mortal horses.
Personality:Adrian is a boisterous and confident individual. He believes himself to be a peerless cavalier and one of the best warriors of the world. This worldview is unsurprising given little has ever happened to challenge the notion. He sees the world as a place filled with corruption and injustice, to be crushed under the hooves of his horse for the cause of good. He himself is of course an incorruptible warrior and defender of the innocent.
Likes:Justice, respect, adoration and honorable combat. Dislikes: Cowardice, injustice , people that give in to despair. Fears: The idea of enemies that cannot fall to the sword Aspirations:To become an unstoppable force of good, destined to drive evil from the world forever.
Relationships: None that would be relevant to the task at hand Allies:His patron. Also the great warriors of the steppes, who consider him the avatar of the golden general. Not that it will matter down in hell. Enemies: As a demigod, he stands opposed to the pearled one, god of deserts and fire, and patron to the peoples that tore down an old empire. It was Adrian who led the charge that broke the desert hordes spine forever, and he has never been forgiven for it. Loyalties:Adrian has a strict adherence to hierarchy and will often try to form a rudimentary one when he's out of his element.He expects obedience from those 'below' him, but will bow to those he considers his superior. As he is a warrior without peers, one could see how this could become a problem.
History: Adrian began his life as the son of a peasant farmer. Life was simple, days passed in a routine. Every autumn the lords came for their rightful part of the harvest, every winter they would remain with more than enough to survive with.
And then, as is often the case, things changed. In this case, the change was the coming of war. This was Adrain's fifteenth year. It seemed like nothing but yet another distant event until the autumn came again. This time the part of the harvest taken was quite a bit larger. for the good of the country. They said. The winter was harsh and ruthless that year. With stubborn hardiness, Adrian and his family survived. They were not particularly angry. After all, only a fool would argue against how these things always went. In that same vein, they also did not complain when the army came back in the summer, demanding Adrian pack his belongings and throw himself into the merciless machine of war. He had been raised a proud countryman, so there were little complaints. He said goodbye to his parents, who looked at him leave with pride... And perhaps also a bit of worry, but was such not to be expected of concerned and wholesome parents?
War was an unkind master to Adrian. The mellow routine of country life was a sharp contrast of the iron-hard discipline in the army. No longer did he wake up to the sound of birds singing. No longer could he loiter in the fields when his work was done. Those things had been replaced with signal horns and barracks respectively. Still, the discipline forged him from an easygoing country kid to a disciplined soldier. Always orderly walking in lockstep along his comrades.
Of course, as a peasant, he was far from worthy of riding the mighty steeds that the Royal cavalry used. Nevertheless, he was always impressed to see them in action. The way in which they scattered the enemy as a single unit. Somehow, he survived a full year of war as a simple foot soldier. And it was on the eve of the last battle of the year that his destiny came calling.
It was but a spur of the moment. The general was thrownout of the saddle by an opportunistic enemy, and Adrian was close enough to intercede. As a footstool's, all he was armed with was a spear and his training. Despite this, he threw himself between his superior and the enemy cavalry. Call it skill, call it luck, but despite his inferior equipment and unfavorable position, he managed to drive his spear through the cavalier leading the charge.
It was like a sea parting. The sight of their commander getting impaled by a mere commoner sowed the seeds of doubt amongst the sand-people. And the quick counterattack only served to further sow panic amongst their ranks. Adrian's act of spontaneous heroism had earned him both the attention and the respect of the top commanders. And so they granted his one wish. To serve as a cavalryman.
Of course, there was some opposition to the idea of a commoner riding in the cavalry, but few complained. After all, no one wanted to be that one guy who complained about the hero that had saved the day.
Winter came, and the war ground to a halt. It was a time of training, of regrouping, and of reunions with family dearly missed. At first, they did not recognize the proud mounted man clad in armor. But then they realized this man was their son, hardened in the crucible of war.
Though he could only see them for a week, it was a week of rejoicing. Of simple happiness, and of excited tales of the prestige and power he had earned by his hard work alone. He reveled in the pride his parents showed, and why should he not. He had gone above and beyond the call of duty to the country.
At the week's end. Adrian whispered a goodbye to his home for a second time and dutifully returned to the field of battle. His comrades in arms were already waiting for him. The first engagement with the enemy was marked by a favorable wind in the back. The day ended on what would be a year of fortune and victory.
Adrian's part in this year of conquest was large. He had grown to become respected by his peers and his superiors. Always leading the charge, always boldly breaking through where no normal man would even consider attacking. Even though he was of lowborn blood, heralds and bards sung of his exploits all the same.
Now, wars in this time were often short affairs, not often taking longer than a year or two. Despite this, the enemy did not want to give up the rich lands they were being driven from without a fight. A last stand was made The sultan himself had come to bolster his troops morale.
When the horns of battle sounded, Adrian's purpose became clear more than ever. He spurred his horse onwards into a charge. He leveled his lance to striking height and drove it through the ranks of infantry, through the cavalry that he had clashed with so often, and finally through the heart of the sultan himself.
His leading the charge had profoundly broken the sand-people. In mass, they abandoned their position. They ran for their lives even as they were scythed down by the dozen by Adrian and his comrades. Nevermore would they have to fear the menace from the desert.
And it was victorious and resplendent that they marched into the city they had come to liberate. The people sang praises to the victorious army. After all, they had been as slaves to the oppressors from the desert, and now they would be free. Leading the victory parade was Adrian himself, Helmeted and stoic, he silently basked in the glory.
The evening was long and loud. The victorious men partied the night away, drunk as much on their victory as they were on the fine wines of the city. Adrian partook in the celebrations, but rather humbly so for one of his rank. He had not forgotten about his humble origins. At least not at this time.
That morning, Adrian went to marvel at the wonders of the city he had helped liberate. For some reason, he felt himself called to the great temple in the center of the city. Clerics and priests were hard at work casting away the heretical symbols of the sand-people's heathen god. The great domed temple would soon be restored in its old glory.
He found himself in the middle of the temple when the priests unfurled a great and impressive tapestry. A gust of wind catched it and stretched it to its full length. Something vast and mighty could be felt in the temple. The sun stood high in the sky, and the rays of light shining through the stained-glass windows all converged in the middle of the temple. Everyone else felt what was happening too. Everyone kneeled, like a soldier showing respect to their superior. Though Adrian did not fall completely to the ground. He knew in his heart... His valor and determination had made him as an equal.
It was that day the golden general of the steppe peoples bequeathed a spark of his power on a follower most favored by him.
Accepted, Welcome to Hell, please fill out a nametag and sit tight while we wait for the rest of the guests to show up.
Patron God: Solstyr , The Betrayer Patron’s Domain: Treasury
Aspect of Patron’s Domain: Soul Collecting
Appearance: Athletic build. Dark grey hair & eyes. Stands at 178cm tall and weighs 79kg. Rough face, shaved. Once you look at his eyes, without the need of him using any ability, you feel your power draining and desperation/paranoia taking over you. General Apparel: Wears a jacket, jeans, hooded cape, gloves, boots. Armor/Weapons/Equipment: * Multiple knives each imbued with a "tamed" and trusted soul able to change direction after you throw them, come back to you or fight "on their own". * Metal wires, can change to spirit form, used to shred opponent, connect them straight to their body in order for limited movement manipulation, and for different means. While in spirit form it can connect straight to his soul gaining complete control over his actions without the target even knowing. ** Trusted dagger always alongside him never leaving his presence ** Magical/Divine Abilities: * Soul drainage/enchantment- Can absorb any thing's soul into his own body absorbing all it's knowledge/memories/experience in life and can enchant souls to items. * Can open portal to personal realm created for storage of everything he so desires including himself. The realm occupies the same space as the other world. Can be used to traverse unpassable terrain or silently sneak on someone. * Divine Judgment- By putting one hand over your forehead and looking into your eyes, his gaze piercing through your fleshy self and into the depths of your soul, he can confirm the darkness/light in you. Even the slightest stain of corruption present in your soul will make you unworthy of existence in his eyes.
Personality: Extreme hate for every human being. Every soul that he has absorbed until now, every sin that they committed and every twisted thought that ever came through their mind, being a major sin at its own, has made Thalændrel realise that there is no hope for the human race. Always serious, has never "smiled" since that fated day. Silent and thoughtful nature.
Likes: Collectible rare items, knowledge in any form and pure souls. Dislikes: Humans. Gods and Titans alike because they all led to the making of humanity. Fears: That the human race will never cease to exist. Aspirations: Becoming GOD. To smite every single impure being in this world and all that he has power over.
Relationships: Deceased Allies: Thousands and one - all the souls that he has collected and managed to control beside his Patron GOD. Enemies: Humanity and everything that lead to it's creation. Loyalties: None
History: His history is one of loss, hardships and revelation. As he will never admit to having a history before he achieved revelation, meaning he was given powers by Solstyr. Being the only one favored by this GOD he was given tremendous powers as no other God had ever bestowed upon a mere mortal. Many heroes and champions fighting for their own God were already known before and were practically legends by their own accomplishments, then their Gods took notice granting them power to raise them even higher, to make them real legends immortal through history. But in Talændrel's case he was no one, helped by none and betrayed by all. At a point in his early life he finally truly understood the nature of humans and of this world we live in. It was as a sudden rush of realization took over him elevating his inner self and releasing a huge burden. The shackles that bound his soul to this mortal realm were undone, thus gaining the attention of several deities but accepting only the one that had experienced the same things as he had...
He used the powers that he was given to rid all those who were stained with the seed of corruption from this realm or put them to better use as his main source of power. By now he had accumulated thousands of souls, having mastered their power, he would proceed to go after legendary rogue spirits that were said to have stayed on this realm as souls holding domain over several specific historical places, usually where large armies clashed or where treacheries took place. These souls were the most powerful, having stayed in their spectral form in this world for ages. The more souls Zorvak absorbed the more he felt his power grow. He was practically immortal by his current power alone, but that wasn't enough to even make a slight change in this world so he would do whatever he could to achieve ascension.
Patron God: Solstyr , The Betrayer Patron’s Domain: Treasury
Aspect of Patron’s Domain: Soul Collecting
Appearance: Athletic build. Dark grey hair & eyes. Stands at 178cm tall and weighs 79kg. Rough face, shaved. Once you look at his eyes, without the need of him using any ability, you feel your power draining and desperation/paranoia taking over you. General Apparel: Wears a jacket, jeans, hooded cape, gloves, boots. Armor/Weapons/Equipment: * Multiple knives each imbued with a "tamed" and trusted soul able to change direction after you throw them, come back to you or fight "on their own". * Metal wires, can change to spirit form, used to shred opponent, connect them straight to their body in order for limited movement manipulation, and for different means. While in spirit form it can connect straight to his soul gaining complete control over his actions without the target even knowing. ** Trusted dagger always alongside him never leaving his presence ** Magical/Divine Abilities: * Soul drainage/enchantment- Can absorb any thing's soul into his own body absorbing all it's knowledge/memories/experience in life and can enchant souls to items. * Can open portal to personal realm created for storage of everything he so desires including himself. The realm occupies the same space as the other world. Can be used to traverse unpassable terrain or silently sneak on someone. * Divine Judgment- By putting one hand over your forehead and looking into your eyes, his gaze piercing through your fleshy self and into the depths of your soul, he can confirm the darkness/light in you. Even the slightest stain of corruption present in your soul will make you unworthy of existence in his eyes.
Personality: Extreme hate for every human being. Every soul that he has absorbed until now, every sin that they committed and every twisted thought that ever came through their mind, being a major sin at its own, has made Thalændrel realise that there is no hope for the human race. Always serious, has never "smiled" since that fated day. Silent and thoughtful nature.
Likes: Collectible rare items, knowledge in any form and pure souls. Dislikes: Humans. Gods and Titans alike because they all led to the making of humanity. Fears: That the human race will never cease to exist. Aspirations: Becoming GOD. To smite every single impure being in this world and all that he has power over.
Relationships: Deceased Allies: Thousands and one - all the souls that he has collected and managed to control beside his Patron GOD. Enemies: Humanity and everything that lead to it's creation. Loyalties: None
History: His history is one of loss, hardships and revelation. As he will never admit to having a history before he achieved revelation, meaning he was given powers by Solstyr. Being the only one favored by this GOD he was given tremendous powers as no other God had ever bestowed upon a mere mortal. Many heroes and champions fighting for their own God were already known before and were practically legends by their own accomplishments, then their Gods took notice granting them power to raise them even higher, to make them real legends immortal through history. But in Talændrel's case he was no one, helped by none and betrayed by all. At a point in his early life he finally truly understood the nature of humans and of this world we live in. It was as a sudden rush of realization took over him elevating his inner self and releasing a huge burden. The shackles that bound his soul to this mortal realm were undone, thus gaining the attention of several deities but accepting only the one that had experienced the same things as he had...
He used the powers that he was given to rid all those who were stained with the seed of corruption from this realm or put them to better use as his main source of power. By now he had accumulated thousands of souls, having mastered their power, he would proceed to go after legendary rogue spirits that were said to have stayed on this realm as souls holding domain over several specific historical places, usually where large armies clashed or where treacheries took place. These souls were the most powerful, having stayed in their spectral form in this world for ages. The more souls Zorvak absorbed the more he felt his power grow. He was practically immortal by his current power alone, but that wasn't enough to even make a slight change in this world so he would do whatever he could to achieve ascension.
Jeans? In the Middle Earth? Seriously?
Accepted. Although I noticed your powers are rather... Interesting shall we say? I wonder what will happen in Hell to this particular Demigod who collects souls and thinks it is his place to keep all those souls? Or does he think he can use his soul powers in Hell against the very laws of Hell?
