Personality: Shen is, in a word, playful. He likes to joke and goof around, often annoying those around him. Combine that with his physical abilities, and he is quite a handful to deal with. This is made even more apparent in battle, as Shen will often taunt his opponents and goad them into attacking as he nimbly dodges and blocks reckless attacks. Despite that, though, Shen is intelligent enough to tell when to take things seriously, and will drop his playful personality to take on a more serious approach to someone who he deems a worthy challenge.
Weapon: Quarterstaff: a rod of metal, with blunt metal tips. 4' 10" in length. Treated and enchanted to resist the pressures and forces of battle. Nothing special other than that.
Abilities: Physically, Shen is quite strong and agile, although it is only twice as much as what a normal human can achieve with years of hard work. Having been trained for a staff ever since he was young, he has gained much skill with the use of a staff, although it is mainly for defense and mobility rather than offense. Shen's fighting style does not rely on direct combat, instead revolving around balance and agility, so he has been training his stamina immensely. So, he spends more of his time dodging and guarding, waiting for his opponent to tire himself out before taking the offensive.
Shen also possesses the ability to manipulate his own Qi, or life force energy, as well as the Qi in the nearby air (within arm's reach), and use it to aid him in battle. Qi itself is invisible, although more observant people can see the shimmer of air as it is manipulated. His most notable uses of it are infusing the ends of his staff or limbs with Qi to increase the force of each blow, firing Qi blasts (similar to a strong gust of wind) from his palms and feet, and moving his staff around in the air as if he was telekinetic (still restricted to arm's reach). However, using Qi wears out his stamina faster than anything else, and even with all his stamina training, he will tire himself out if he uses it for too long.
Background: Iolanthe's upbringing was a simple one, she was born in Athens, to a silk weaver of a mother, and a father who was an archer in the city state's army. War was commonplace in Greece, and engulfed much of the young girl's life. Even though Greece was solidified as a country before Iolanthe's time, frequent disputes between Athens, and its neighboring city states, such as Sparta, and Corinth, hardened the girl's outlook on life. At age nine, she lost her father, who died in battle during the Achaean-Roman wars, which ultimately resulted in a loss for Greece. During this time, Iolanthe was young, but she was much unlike the girls her age, many of which sought after boys, or tried their hands in the trades; perhaps it was because her father was Spartan, the desire to do battle ran deep in her blood, and vengeance was lustfully sought after. Young Iolanthe played stick fighting with the boys, and came home with many a bruise at the end of each day. Deeper in to the war, at age ten, Iolanthe realized she had a power unlike any other, the ability to see things that nobody else could, with a precision to mock the gods, she was blessed, and joined the Greek army as a scout. Iolanthe's teen years involved practicing swordplay with the local militia, who adored her spunk, and manning the country's beacon outposts, where she could properly utilize her vision.
Perhaps if Iolanthe was older, she might have been better able to help her country fend off the Romans. Word reached Athens of Corinth's fall, only years after the unity of Greek city states. She wanted to join in the army's march, but was not allowed, luckily, for they were defeated in battle. When the superpower that was Rome finally pushed onwards to Athens, there little the city could do. Iolanthe's teenage years were spent during Rome's domination of Greece.
At age twenty, Iolanthe's vengeful mind was mostly quelled, for life with the Romans wasn't so bad, love for the gods was shared across the empire, and there was little more than a language gap. Eventually, Iolanthe went on to become a priestess to the stars, assuming a religious life might quell her inner rage. She observed the stars, and marked many points on astrological charts, but years passed by in boredom, and she eventually fell in with old allies that fled the Corinthian war. The complete annihilation of Corinth caused enough backlash to give reason to the Greeks, to create a secret rebellion, of which Iolanthe joined, and fought back against the Romans.
During Iolanthe's third battle against the romans, she was met by a powerful adversary on the battlefield. She proved herself invaluable in battle, many a legionnaire flinched before her skill with the spear and aspis, however the Romans had a secret weapon, a man with a magic voice, who invoked this power upon the hoplites of Rome. Using his voice, he cursed and brainwashed the Greeks to serve Rome, and Iolanthe became the man's prize and joy. She was directly integrated in to the royal Legion, and her meddle was tested against the many artifacts seized by Rome - that is when they discovered the truth, she was Hyperion's champion.
Personality: Honour and virtue above all other things, Iolanthe's pride and pursuit of glory often compel and motivate her actions. In battle, she is tempered, but extremely analytic, her eyes of course being blessed by the divines. With ease, she can determine the motives of an individual simply by observing their physical gestures, making her seem very wise. Quick thinking has saved this hoplite more often than anything else, she is intelligent enough to convince hardened warriors of her usefulness, even in an age dominated by men.
Appearance:
Beneath her helmet, Iolanthe is a beautiful woman, with rosy cheeks & lips, her eyes are a dark brown, just slightly darker than her long chestnut coloured hair. Her complexion is often marred by dirt, sweat, or bruises from battle, and her thin nose tilts slightly to her left. Standing upright, without shoes, Iolanthe is five feet, and ten inches tall. She is musclebound, with very large thighs and calves, and oddly squarish shoulders. She has smaller than average sized breasts, and a wide hip ratio.
Equipment: ↳ Hyperion: The legendary sword-lance, named after a titan god who fathered the sun, moon, and dawn; its blade is six feet long, its handle two, with a bladed hilt on the back end. This weapon's shape and form changes depending on the time of day, and it is otherwise the most indestructible item in Iolanthe's armour. When the sun is high, the lance glows a bright gold, harmful to the naked eye if stared at for too long, in this state, the lance's blade becomes superheated, allowing it to melt through metals given enough time and force. Unlike most lances, Hyperion's spearhead is flat, and sharpened to act as both a slashing and piercing weapon. When the cowl of night looms overhead, Hyperion's Selenic form awakens, and it loses its glow, turning ice cold and invisible. At dawn, or dusk is when Hyperion is most deadly in battle, in its Eon form, the spear becomes ethereal; at dawn, it glows brightly, and burns whatever it passes through, at dusk, the reverse effect, anything struck by the incorporeal blade will be frozen.
↳ Aspis & Hoplon: Iolanthe sports two shields at all times, and incorporates them in a very defensive fighting style. The first, an Aspis of two feet in diameter is attached to her right shoulder, with room bored out of the top side so that it does not interfere with her head-space. The second shield, a larger three-foot hoplon, is often brandished on her left forearm, and attached tightly so that it does not fall off in battle - her hand is mostly free, however still hidden behind the shield, she has practice in wielding her gladius behind the shield's dome. Both shields are made of steel, and gilded with bronze, the larger of the two weighs about fifteen pounds, whilst the pouldron is just over half of that.
↳ Gladius: Two short swords are equipped to Iolanthe's hip, one on each side. The swords are made of steel.
↳ Panoply: A full set of armour, comprising of both Greek and Roman crafts. A signature muscle cuirass, uniquely crafted for her, allowing room for her breasts, unlike most Greek armours which are made for men. A Legionnaire's helmet, signifying her service to the Roman legion. Bracers equipped to both her wrists, and shins. A metal plated skirt protects much of her legs and waist. Iolanthe wears no smaller pauldrons, nor any plates for her joints, so her movements aren't that hindered.
↳ Cloak: A crimson red cloak is fastened to rings attached to the back plating of Iolanthe's armour. Fully aware that getting clothing stuck in battle can become a fatal mistake, the cloak is detachable if tugged on hard enough, or she may unhinge the rings with the hilt of her spear.
Abilities: ↳ Hyperion's Blessing: Like most Greek gods, Hyperion has a favored champion, Iolanthe, his blessing upon her is the power to brandish his legendary spear without being burnt or frozen.
↳ First Principle: Iolanthe's eyes were blessed at birth, and throughout her life, she realized her true power was not a martial art, nor in the trades or crafts, but a scholarly prowess. Her observational skills are beyond human, proven so during her city state's war against Rome, where Iolanthe was able to spot the Roman army on the horizon, and calculate exactly how many men marched, as well as exactly what kind of weapons and siege engines they brought to the battlefield. Her visual prowess goes even beyond distance, fog, smoke, and darkness only vaguely disrupt her line of sight, she is capable of staring at the sun without burning her eyes, and her mind is exceptionally quick to react to anything she perceives as an immediate threat.
↳ Physicality: Unlike many other champions, Iolanthe lacks the upper body strength to push boulders, or wrestle minotaurs, however she does have her qualities. Her thigh and calve muscles are immense, and she is fully capable of enduring powerful impact attacks, if she blocks them with her shield, and channels the kinetic energy through her legs. It is difficult for even the strongest of champions to break Iolanthe's brace, due to the sheer power of her lower body. Her dashing speed is formidable, however the weight of her armour is cumbersome, she is well known for her short dashes, which add tremendous force to lance thrusts.
Name: Gonad Yaksplitter Title: The Lord of the Rising Sun Age: 34 Height: 7'2" Weight: 499 pounds Race: Human Class: Warrior Alignment: Chaotic Good Eye Color: Hazel
Weapons and Equipment- His body, occasionally a set of thick six-kilo runite (a foreign metal of nigh-indestructible toughness) bracers and a pair of dragon gauntlets (a metal that is a tier above runite, also almost indestructible). He often wears the "Tzhaar-Kal-Ket", an incredibly rare and magical cloak bestowed upon those few in history who have triumphed over the brutal challenges of a terrible volcano-dwelling race known as the Tzhaar. It is impervious to heat and cold & incredibly durable to boot. He also always keeps an enchanted "Inoculation Brace" on his ankle, a magical trinket which renders him immune to harmful substances.
(Gonad with his bracers)
Appearance- Silhouetted against the burning passions of war, a figure stands tall, unmoving. His physique is as definitive as the gory victory with which his gruesome hands secure. Woven into his beard is a tapestry of blood, proclaiming the legendary tales of the countless scars adorning the sacred weapon, known as Gonad. For weapon he is, heated and hammered in the unquenchable fires of battle.
Pure unadulterated muscle. Lean muscle that ripples under his flesh like the waves of the ocean. He has muscles on his muscles. Feet Muscles. Finger muscles. Muscles in places that muscles should not be. A grisly body resembling tanned granite that might as well have been chiseled by the gods. Bulging veins, thick and course. Tendons like steel cords. Fingers like blunt iron rods. Long, sinewy limbs crafted for naught but the deliverance of phenomenal destruction. His enormous yet supple frame moves with a primal grace, the likes of which are comparable only to the untamed beasts of the wild.
His body is riddled with the innumerable wounds left by his combative livelihood. There are hundreds upon hundreds. Where the scars do not cover his body, coarse manly hair, thick and strong like steel wool, does. He boasts a great dark gray beard speckled with the blood and bone flakes of his foes, flowing down his freakishly striated chest in thick, oily waves reminiscent of the River Styx. From it emanates the very stench of death and graverot, every bit as inescapable as his piercing glare. Within his single eye resides an undying flame, sizzling hotter than the arse-winds of Satan himself.
Personality- What attributes the primal organism known as "Gonad" bears are no different than the attributes of mother nature herself. Blood-tinged Westerlies carving jagged sluices along the tepid surface of a great and mysterious ocean, whose calm demeanor belies a vast and terrible capability. The wisdom of towering snow-capped mountains, whose interminable experience has been honed over countless millennia of wear and tear. The trepid balance between predator and prey, animal and man, intermingling to form a singular amalgamation of virile life. And yet, he maintains a feature apart from nature. Self-awareness. He lives only for pushing the boundaries of human strength and spirit, forcing himself beyond the utmost limit in extreme combat. He fears not death, nor pain, nor loss, for it is from these things that the vigor and strength of true manhood and honor spring. He revels in the pain, luxuriates in death, and basks in loss. He never will engage in dishonorable practices such as deception, and will not tolerate an unfair fight. Though he may oftentimes appear a comical fool, Gonad is truly just a simple man who very rarely premeditates an action, instead acting from the heart and without hesitation, following only the voice of his soul.
Abilities/Skills- Regarded in his home realm as the greatest martial artist and warrior to have ever lived, Gonad boasts tremendous dynamic and static strength greater than that of a wild animal. He fights through experience and instinct, capable of reacting to attacks through muscle memory before he consciously registers them. Gonad is the supreme master of his own body, and can control its functions at will. He can use the full potential of his latent strength, constrict blood vessels to keep from losing fluids, and transmit senses other than sight through his visual cortex along with a plethora of other abilities. He is capable of touching and harming incorporeal or transdimensional entities by virtue of being too ignorant to know that he shouldn't. Gonad is a grandmaster of the berserker arts and can utilize three different forms of the technique, each one a step up from the last. These three modes are Semi Berserk, Fully Berserk, and the preeminent Primal State. He witholds a vast array of rare and lethal wisdom and is said to know of over one-thousand ways to kill with his bare hands.
Background- Gonad is a legendary warrior who hails from the realm of Gielinor, a faraway land entrenched in fantasy and warfare. He has seen countless wars, killed countless enemies, made countless friends. To recount the barbarian's many adventures would be an exercise in futility, for the blood wrought odyssey of Gonad transcends time and experience.
Name: Nicoli Ezio Salvatore Alias: D'Angelo Titles: Veiled-One, Ma'Radiim, Weapons Master, Kensai, Pathfinder Apparent Age: 30 Actual Age: 68 Gender: Male Occupation: Mercenary Demeanor: Nicoli is a man driven by his ambitions, he believes himself to be above human desires and has forsaken alcohol, sex, and drugs from his life. He tries to live a ’pure’ life not out of an attempt to reach enlightenment like so many, but because he refuses to let others have a way to exploit him.
This is not to say that Nicoli is without humor, far from it. What he finds funny most others find cruel. A sharp tongue and wit are more likely to impress him than anger him, in fact, he grudgingly respects those that can use their words like weapons.
Basic Appearance
Hair: Kept very short, and is a deep black. Facial Hair: Normally clean shaven. Sometimes seen with stubble. Eyes: Dark Blue. Build: Thin, Toned, Corded Height: 6'1 Weight: 212 .lbs Special Features: Scars all over his body, arms, and legs. (This picture was specifically designed/created for Nicoli.)
Combat Credentials
Combat Style: Nicoli is a tactical genius capable of finding even the smallest advantage offered him on the battlefield, or even create said advantage if given the opportunity. Nicoli is also an extremely fast learner that is capable of observing a particular combat maneuver just once or twice and adapting it to his choice of weapons. Nicoli is an extremely deadly warrior when one combines his ability to dissect the battlefield, thievery training, weapon skills, and Radiim technique.
Abilities
The Art of Assassination: Nicoli is well versed in how to kill and very familiar with humanoid anatomy. He is a adept at the creation and use of poisons but rarely employs the tactic. He is a master of using subtlety and misdirection in and out of combat and has honed his base senses to perfection in order to prevent himself from falling prey to his own tricks.
Weapons Master: There aren't many weapons Nicoli has seen that he can’t effectively use. Even if such were the case, his time spent with weapons would allow him to familiarize himself with it in moments and use it to it’s full capacity. These ‘weapons’ also include Nicoli’s body, fully capable of fighting off armed and armored opponents with his bare hands.
Thievery Training: Nicoli is extremely adept at many thieving skills to include lock picking, disarming traps, setting traps, disabling devices (magical and mundane), acrobatics, disguise, and more. He relies on his own skill rather than magic to get the job done, ensuring that he never loses his edge.
Alchemist (Adept): During his time with the Veiled Ones Nicoli has learned some of what it means to be an Alchemist. He can create many basic mundane items, and even some with magical or supernatural qualities.
Radiim: The technique known as Radiim is really several techniques used for one purpose. The user learns not simply the ability to block out pain, but to register it on a different level, like breathing, pain became a natural part of Nicolis life. This allows Nicoli to use and push his body to its limits before relying on the more advanced training of Radiim. The second and true purpose of the training, Nicoli has learned to control the flow and potency of his adrenaline as well as the use of his fast and slow twitch muscle fibers. While this does make Nicoli faster and stronger, capable of accessing a hundred percent of his potential, it does come at a cost. Shortened bursts of this, if used in succession make him tired and fatigued. While prolonged usage can result in permanent nerve/brain damage, a heart-attack and even death. All of this is compounded on top of the normal threats one faces in any battle.
Pathfinder: Nicoli has become an excellent tracker over the years. His keen senses and attention to detail have helped him become a Pathfinder. Nicoli is capable of tracking and making his way safely through any environment, he knows how to survive; what to eat, identify plants and animals, what to avoid when in a natural setting and other general knowledge associated with a woodsmen.
Eldritch Knowledge: Since having expanded his quarry from humanoids to all manner of beasts Nicoli has been studying and learning of the various magics sects and powers in the world. He focuses, specifically, on monstrous creatures and how to combat them. He might not know what a magic item is capable of when he comes upon it, but he knows the weaknesses of vampires, undead and other nasty creatures.
Attributes Physical Strength: Nicoli’s raw physical strength is normally of Olympian level, though within the limits of human standards.
Dexterity: This attribute covers movement speed, hand-eye coordination and flexibility. Dexterity is clearly Nicoli’s best physical attribute. He possesses perfect kinesthetic awareness, can run at a top speed of 26 MPH unaided, and tumble through the air like a gymnast.
Stamina: Nicoli rarely gets sick, he recovers from trauma faster than your average person but not at supernatural speeds. Like a world heavy-weight boxer he can get knocked down several times and keep getting back to his feet.
Social Charisma: A loner by nature Nicoli generally doesn’t come off as someone that is approachable, the general populace seems to avoid the man when the see him.
Manipulation: Nicoli is capable of manipulating through the use of knowledge, though he has a hard time empathizing with most. There are certain exceptions such as someone suffering from a tragedy that he himself as gone through.
Appearance: Nicoli is not an attractive man. His face is thin with high-cheek bones and a hard jaw-line. His face rests in a constant scowl and he makes no effort to change that.
Mental Perception: Nicoli has a very keen eye, he uses all of his senses to perceive the world around him. While he does not possess superhuman sensory his ability to use all of his senses to their maximum efficiency can make it seem like he does.
Intelligence: This is the raw power of the mind, linked to cognitive capacity. Nicoli is exceptionally gifted and learns things with ease.
Wits: This measures Nicoli’s ability to think on his feet under pressure. This is where Nicoli truly shines mentally. He can easily make leaps of logic based on intuition.
Gear
Full Description/ Info:
-- Head: N/A —Shoulders: All Weather Cloak -- Torso: Leather Armor. ---- Underclothes: Simple Dark Garments -- Legs: Leather Padding Over Simple Dark Clothing. ---- Underclothes: Simple Dark Garments -- Right Arm: Steel Bracers. -- Left Arm: Steel Bracers. -- Primary Weapon: Long Sword -- Secondary Weapon: Short Sword
-- Combat Items:
Long SwordKardia -- This long, ash grey, steel forged, and slightly curved blade has a handle of polished obsidian carved into the likes of a black bird of fire, a black phoenix. The creatures wings are folded backwards to create a guard for the hand, the head pointed downwards holding a clear gem. The wings make the swords cross guard with the hilt crafted to depict delicate feathers of flame.
Upon command the blade can change to alter its metal properties. While it is generally steel Nicoli can cause the blade to become silver, cold-iron, mithril or adamantine. Doing this does not affect the integrity of the weapon, but does effect weight.
Short SwordTooth -- This weapon appears to be crafted from the tooth of a very large carnivorous creature. It is a vibrantly white, straight, thin and wide short sword. Both sides of this wicked looking weapon are covered in many small jagged barbs that tear flesh. The hilt is a simple construct of bronze wrapped in brown faded leather. (This is the tooth of some very large carnivorous creature, the likes of which Nicoli hasn't the slightest clue.)
Once this blade tastes the blood of its victim it grants the wielder an unnaturally keen awareness of them, helping the wielder to track that person across many miles, even planes. The effect lasts until the weapon is cleansed or blood of another touches its blade.
Enchanted Armor/Cloak The leather armor that Nicoli wears is enchanted to resist the impact of weapons by half, making bludgeoning weapons much less effective against him, it can be activated twice in one fight. The cloak can, on command, aid him by magically shifting its color to match that of his surroundings.
Alchemist Fire X 2.-- The small ceramic vials burn fiercely and quickly when exposed to the air. The heat is hot enough to give third degree burns, and do much worse if not put out.
Essence of Rust x 2-- Taken from the gullet of a Rust Monster, this dust can quickly eat away at non magical metals.
Adhesive Gel Bag X 2-- This bag when thrown covers roughly a 10x10 area in a very sticky glue like substance that becomes hard like cement after a few seconds.
Smoke Bombs X 2-- When the ceramic balls are broken they release a heavy dark grey cloud that can cover a 30 feet in all directions. Winds of 15+ MPH can disperse the wind in ten seconds, while winds of 25+ disperse it in 3.
Flash Pellets X 2— Also small pellets these release a bright light when cracked open. The light last for just a brief moment, but its effects can be damaging when used in total darkness or against opponents with superior eye sight.
This eighteen inch long baton his faded grey with three buttons on it. Pressing the first button releases sixty feet of rope every six seconds, up to a maximum of three hundred feet, pressing the button a second time stops it, pressing it a third time draws it back in at the same speed.
Pressing the second button produces a small leather loop from one end and a sharp grappling hook out the other. Hitting the button a second time launches one third of the rod (the end with the hooks) in the direction you aim. Up to three hundred feet trails behind the launched section, this launches it the three hundred feet in one second. Pressing the button a third time retracts the rope, drawing the held end towards the hooked end if it is securely attached. It can pull up to one thousand pounds.
When you press the third button grappling hooks sprout from each end of the rod. Pressing it again launches the two ends of the rod in opposite directions simultaneously. Three hundred feet of rope can emerge from both ends, for a total of six hundred feet. Pushing the button a third time causes the held section to be able to slide along the rope freely. Pressing it a third time retracts both ends and brings it back to its inactivated state.
There are seven charms on this jet black bracelet. Nicoli wears this bracelet as an anklet, which is hidden inside his left boot. Each charm has a different minor ability that only works when attached to the specific chain. This bracelet is given to True Veiled-Ones, with each charm showing the level of skill and rank one has achieved, with eight being the Maximum. Only the Grand Master has the final charm.
The magic of the charms are all linked. Those that have charges 'share' the six charges that are referenced below, meaning Nicoli could activate 1 item six times or space those six uses between them.
-Wizards Aid– This small charm vibrates when magic is being activated/used within one hundred feet of Nicoli. It does not pin-point or identify the magic, it merely identifies that something is being used within that range.
-Rogue Feet– This charm magically silences Nicoli’s person, it only affects Nicoli and does not extend to anyone he is touching. What’s more, is that this item has to be activated by thought and lasts for only six posts at a time and needs three times that much time to recharge.
-Spider Step– As the name suggests once activated, like Rogue Feet, it allows Nicoli to stick to nearly any surface. It can only be used for six posts (in a single fight) before needing to be recharged like Rogue Feet. This is best used in small instances for brief moments at a time.
-Divine. Me. Not.– This charm is useful against prying eyes. It does not outright stop Diviners, but it makes finding Nicoli through magical means much more difficult. Normal spells will not work, and often the only way to override this charm is through complicated rituals. This protection does help, though to a very a small degree, protect Nicoli's mind from intrusion. Having a piece of Nicoli (Blood, Skin, Hair) bypasses this charm easily.
-Cloud Step– This charm has three purposes. First, it makes the user incredibly light so when falling they take little to no damage, this also allows Nicoli to leap incredibly high and finally it makes it possible for Nicoli to run across liquid surfaces. This suffers the same limitations and restraints as Spider Step and Rogue Feet.
-Shaded Face– This charm, when activated, simply causes the users skin to be covered by a black ink like substance that swirls with dark red and deep blue streaks. It masks their features to hide their identity, but offers no further protection. If it covers the face than natural darkness no longer effects eye-sight. There is no limit to the use of this charm.
-Daggered– Normally this charm, when used, makes a dagger appear in the user’s hand. However, since this is worn on an ankle the dagger acts as a boot dagger, and does so without damaging Nicoli’s footwear. This can be activated up to six times before needing twenty-four hours to charge.
They say that we are the products of our environment, that we are forged by our trials and tribulations. It is also said that it is in these moment, when man is at his weakest, that you see his true nature. One sees what lies beneath the façade, the lies and falsehoods we build around ourselves. That the illusions we have come to accept as reality fade away and we are left with nothing but the truth. What we, as humans, truly are.
I believe this now more than I have ever believed it in my life. Pain, suffering, loss; these are all tools that chip away at our false sense of self. You may think me a cynic, but you would be wrong. I do not see humans as the low-scum of the earth; from the lowest street urchin to the holiest of priest, I see us as equals. Equals that are lost and misguided, confused and afraid. Good and evil are but words attached to something so that we can identify it. Good and evil are merely the product of the decisions we’ve made. For what can be good to one may be deemed evil by another, there is only one universal truth.
But perhaps I should start at the beginning and when I am finished perhaps you will understand why I view the world the way I do. If you are lucky you will have the insight that I have garnered. But! And I warn you, do not mistake this insight as some universal truth, that by coming to this understanding you will become wiser, closer to knowing yourself or your deity. Because if you do, if that is what you come to know … well, then you’ve missed the entire point of my rambling.
My name is Nicoli Ezio Salvatore, I was born to Machiavelli Salvatore and a mother whose name I do not know and whom I’ve never met. I can tell you that I was born during Deep Winter, when the suns visits seem but fleeting moments and the night sky remains like an unwelcomed guest for hours upon hours. I also know that my mother, the gods bless her soul, had taken ill weeks before I was to be born. I am told that had she not been pregnant she likely would have survived child labor.
My father, being who he was, would not let any man or women of any deity come place their blessings on her. I would later come to find that he did not trust any power that was given and not earned. I know now that I am not to blame for what happened, but it took many years to reach this understanding. My father blamed me until his last days.
Whereas most fathers in mines position would take their sons and find within them a piece of the love they had just lost Machiavelli did not. I am told that after my mother’s death he did not even look upon me. I imagine that as an advisor to a King it was quite easy to say that he was too busy. There were tutors and nannies to take care of the task of raising a child.
As a young child I cannot recall seeing my father much, though I was told a great deal about him. The servants of the castle were always there to remind me of his greatness, of the importance of his task and how powerful of a Wizard he was. Yes, my father was a Wizard and the Kings adviser to all things eldritch and arcane in nature. It wasn’t until I was about seven that my father spent any real time with me, even then I now realize that it hadn’t been what you would likely say is quality time. They were tests, mental puzzles mostly. My father wanted to see if I had a gift, he had told me that he had solved each puzzle by the time he was seven.
I passed. Each puzzle brought on a new challenge, and in solving those puzzles I got to spend more time with the man I had not known. So I passed each and every test, I hungered for them. Each time I passed one more quickly then he anticipated I was given praise and every time I solved one too slowly I was faced with what he called ‘consequences’.
When I was ten I faced another test, a different sort then I had been accustomed to. This time my father taught me personally. It was the most dreadful but rewarding portion of my life. I was being taught how to wield magic, or at least I was building up to the task. There were hundreds of things to learn before I would even be allowed to attempt to conjure up my first spell. My father was a harsh teacher and he punished me with clever and sadistic magic. If I failed to remember something or repeat a word back correctly my body would be wracked with horrible pain but not a mark would be left on my skin.
I learned very quickly to not be wrong and was progressing through the studies faster than even my father had. He was pleased and all was right in the world. At least, until I failed to cast even the simplest of cantrips. No matter how hard I tried, it simply could not be done. Even my father could only bring so much pain unto a small child until his frustration caused him to quit. I was deemed a loss, a waste of time. I do not think anything had ever hurt so much.
The lessons with my father came to a halt and I was back to studying with tutors. I went back to learning history, science, math, philosophy and all the other mundane subjects that those in my privileged position had to learn. My favorite subject among them was military tactics, it reminded me of the puzzles I had solved when I was younger.
It was slightly before my thirteenth Name Day that I was required to attend a tournament the King had put on, in celebration for his own sons fifteenth Name Day, the day he became a man. It was that week of martial competition that sparked my interest in weaponry and personal combat. As was my father’s custom I was allowed to request one thing on my Name Day, all previous requests had been to spend a day with my father. This time that wasn’t what I ask for, this time I wanted to learn what I had seen during the tournament.
The very next day I began my fencing lessons and I couldn’t remember a time I had been happier. There was something about fencing that spoke to me. My father had a say in my training of course and he had the very same instructor that taught the Prince train me as well. Like a fish to water I took to it, when I wasn’t attending another class I spent my free time practicing. The lessons were far to slow for my liking and so I studied manuscripts on my own. When I say that I learn things quickly you must understand that I am not boasting, merely stating a fact, and I learned fencing at an accelerated rate even based on my own standards.
By the time my fourteenth Name Day came around I had such a firm grasp on fencing that I could defeat those that were a decade and more my senior. The very blade was an extension of my arm, yet… I wasn’t satisfied. Fencing was good for sport and duels, but in my mind it had no place in actual war. I wanted more, I wanted to learn more weaponry.
My next request was to learn to fight as the Soldiers in the Kings army do. That of course was not something my father could permit, no son of his would train with the common footman. So, I began my apprenticeship under a knight, I became a Squire. My master was the Kings own brother, Sebastian of Alexandria, who had half-a-dozen squires under him and like me they came from rich families. Unlike me they did not have the hunger to learn, the passion needed to succeed.
I did every menial task with a smile and in return I was shown basic things, like how to care for a horse, armor and weapons. I was grateful for everything I learned, and as fate would have it my Master came into the stables one late night and found me practicing with my rapier against a dummy made of straw that I constructed. His booming laughter broke me from my trance and he sauntered on over, took my rapier from me and snapped it over his knee.
From his own saddle he produced a finely crafted longsword and gave it to me. From that night on I practiced with the heavier weapon, as well as spears, flails, shields, cross-bows and any other weapon I could find in the armory. Sebastian, as he preferred to be called, made a deal with me then. If I could show as much dedication to every task I was given as I did to the sword he would train me to be the finest Knight he could. Like many times before I poured every ounce of myself into doing exactly that.
I vividly remember the other boys jealously. Some had been serving as a squire for years and I was less than a year in myself and was given special treatment above and beyond them. It seemed Sebastian was also aware of their displeasure because after a couple months of training he allowed them to challenge me, one at a time in honorable combat. I defeated each one with ease. I was always a step ahead, thinking faster than them and striking more swiftly. After that day they left me alone, probably for the best.
A year and a half as a squire, now fifteen, Sebastian was being called for war. As the Kings brother he was expected to lead his armies into combat and I would be there beside him. Surprisingly enough my father did not object. The time leading up to the War came fast and now that I think on it I do not remember seeing or hearing from my father once. Again, probably for the best.
I remember preparing to go to war, especially the drinking beforehand. I listened to the stories of old war veterans, I asked questions, wanted to know why they would try certain tactics when others were clearly better. I simply got laughed at and didn’t understand why. The sound of the horse’s hooves ringing on the cobblestone as we exited the city in a parade like manner is memory I’ll never forget. We were ushered out like we had already won, it felt good.
We traveled east, through forest and towns, over rivers and through winding mountain trails. As I was at the head of the army I did not see what sort of damage something that massive does. But let me assure you that an army traveling through the country-side is nearly as destructive as war. I at well, slept well and found time for practicing with weapons and studying. The same could not be said for the common soldier who trudged along behind on foot, but such is the benefit of being raised in a privileged position.
It was morning and the rising sun was just burning away the late night fog. We were standing at the crest of a hill, a fairly open valley lay before us. I remember looking left and right, seeing all the mounted knights in their shining plate-mail. I remember looking across to the barbarians in ragtag formations with their crude weaponry and hide armor. I remember thinking to myself that they don’t stand a chance.
After the horn sounded the very earth trembled around me, thunder it seemed had found its place among us. It was nothing like the stories, nothing at all. The screams, the smells, the sights. I am fairly certain I vomited right on the back of my horse.
It had been a slaughter, with Sebastian issuing orders from atop his mount. It had made me sick. The second, third and fourth battles were more the same, but watching became easier and easier. The barbarians lost hundreds to our tens, they lost ground and were routed at every turn as the Kings generals expertly navigated the battles.
It was those long days that I found solace in my weapon forms, in the art of what I was doing. It was so beautiful when I was doing it, nothing like the hacking and slashing I was witnessing on the field of battle. There was no art in the thick of combat, only the need to survive as I would soon find out.
On what would would be the final battle in the year long war started off as a beautiful morning. I remember waking up early, before the sun as usual, to tend to Sebastian's gear and horses. That was when the first flaming arrow struck the camp. I watched it rise into the sky before it began it's descent, I stood transfixed as it came down and to my surprise landed on the tent that I had just come out of. Shouts and screams went up around me, the panicked neighing of horses and then I heard the hissing of a thousand angry wasps, I looked up to see hundreds of flaming arrows follow similar path as the first. At this point I was no longer transfixed and I dived for cover under a wagon that had been propped up to be fixed.
I heard arrows striking the wood, but I knew I would be safe for several moments before the whole thing went into flames. That's when I saw what was happening, those same Barbarians came swooping down into the encampment but it just wasn't the poorly armored men we had been fighting along with them came beasts out of my very own nightmares.
The very trees walked in their wake, large cats strode about on two feet, powerful maws tearing at skin and claws rendering armor with ease. Within the blink of an eye I saw Sebastian, who had come out of his tent with only his sword, get attacked by two of those cat creatures. I thought him doomed, these creatures that stood as tall as a fully grown man but each one with the rippling muscles of a hunting panther.
It wasn't until I was swinging a sword of my own that I realized what I was doing. I hamstrung the first creature and when the second looked away for a moment Sebastian ran him through with his sword and then pulled forth a dagger to plunge into back of the one I had crippled. I remember the look of approval he had given me then and despite the terror I felt it was a look that said more than any words could have.
Sebastian and I each took our swords and a buckler and began to retreat, towards where we knew the mages we had brought would be fighting. I saw the first flashes of lightning and fire before we had made it a hundred feet. That was where the attack was concentrated, where the fighting was the thickest. I charged in behind Sebastian not because I was brave, but because I was afraid of what might happen if I left his side.
I can not tell you personally what happened at that point. The fray of combat was chaotic and despite my own thoughts on 'the art' of battle, I was hacking and slashing my way forward, instinct and the few years of training taking over. It's true, what they say, you fight how you train. When you have nothing left you fall back on what you know.
We made it to the mages, three of the five were still alive and so Sebastian, myself and several others formed a ring around them, to try and give them time. Time for what I was not sure, but Sebastian believed that only they could save us and I trusted his judgment.
The fighting ceased then and the barbarians and creatures of the forest stepped back, we were surrounded, and I could only assume everyone but us had been slaughtered. Then, from among them, a single black clad figure emerged, and in his hands he held a finely crafted staff so powerful that even I could see the gem on top pulsating, warping the area around it.
He waved a hand and one of our mages dropped to the ground, gurgling as maggots erupted from his mouth. It was then that Sebastian threw a dagger he had been keeping concealed, though that action cost him his life, the dagger spun end over end and though it missed its marked, deflected by some unseen force, it pulled the hood from the dark figures face.
To my horror, both in seeing Sebastian filled with arrows resembling a pin-cushion and that the dark hooded figure was my father. There are no real words to describe what went on in my mind at the time. It was a shock, I did not feel like me, I felt as if I was a hundred feet above myself staring down at the scene below me.
When I snapped back to reality I looked around and noticed that everyone but me was dead or dying, arrows protruding from throats, eyes and hearts. I heard my father speak to me and then he barked something in another language. I was beyond words then, I felt numb inside as I struggled to digest all of this information.
I realized after a moment that I was be pitted against someone, a boy the same age as me only he was dressed as my father and carried a similar staff, though his held no gem at the top. My father patted him on the shoulder, smiled and spoke, he whispered words of encouragement to him. I remember him pointing his staff at me and that I was struck by an unseen force, lifted off the ground and hurled back onto the bodies of the dead, of the mages we had tried to protect.
Lightning was next, it sprang from his finger-tips and danced across my skin. I could smell burnt flesh as he roasted me. Blood welled in my mouth as I bit my tongue from convulsion. I laid their for what seemed an eternity to me. The numbness I had been filling rushed out of me and was filled with a rage of the likes which I had never known, it brought clarity, gave me a sense of purpose. I was angered at the death of Sebastian, of the knights and footmen around me. I was angry at the betrayal of my father, but most of all I was furious that this boy no older than I stood where I should have been, that I had been so easily replaced.
As the boy drew closer to no doubt strike me down I rushed to my feet and tackled him. He might have had magic, but I knew that only the most powerful wizards, like my father, could use spells without speaking. So, without a weapon in hand and too afraid to relinquish my hold on the young mage I did the only thing I could think of. I ripped out his throat with my teeth.
I remember standing and watching the boy die with an emotional detachment that would later frighten me. I spit a chunk of flesh from my mouth and looked up to see my father staring at me, eyes wide and face white, I believe he shook with furry. I remember smiling back.
He raised his own staff to strike me down but a clawed hand appeared on his shoulder and one of the large bi-pedal feline creatures spoke in firm words to him. I watched as the attention shifted from me to my father, something was happening then, something I didn't understand.
I learned later that the Kesh'la'tar, the name the feline creatures gave to themselves, declared that I had won my freedom by a trial of combat and was free of harm while I remained in their lands. That my father, by initiating a one on one dual, had invoked one of their great laws of war. I had earned my freedom. But freedom to go where? I knew that I alone survived and that once I left the battlefield I would be struck down and that there would be nothing I could do about it.
It is then and there that my time among my own people ended, I decided to stay in the safety of the woods. Unfortunately I did not understand the Kesh'la'tar's customs and by staying I submitted myself as a prisoner of war, and as such I would become a slave and remain so for five years and a day to the day of the battle. So, on the next morning my five years and a day as a slave began.
At sixteen years old I was well aware of what slavery was and I dreaded the thought of it. I knew how cruel humans could be, so I thought rationally only the gods knew how cruel these beast walking as men could be. These creatures, whom I'd seen nearly rip men in half with their bare hands. I was awake all night thinking that perhaps letting my father kill me would have been the better of the options before me.
I woke with the rising sun, to the Kesh'la'tar or Kesh as I learned to call them, I learned that the sun rising signified a new beginning, a fresh start. So my new life started clean, yesterdays events were put behind them. To my surprise my day started out like it had many times before, I was set to do tasks. The first of which was to retrieve water from a nearby waterfall.
Not a single task I was given was menial or cruel, each one was with purpose and would either better the whole of the clan or myself. The Kesh were not petty creatures. Vicious? Certainly. Barbaric as far as I was concerned, but they were not without a sense of honor.
Day in and day out I performed these tasks. I learned that as a prisoner of war I belonged to the clan chief and that as his only he could issue me tasks and punish me. I was like a ghost among them, not spoken too or noticed. The opposite was not the same, I watched them closely, trying to learn their strange customs. The Kesh warriors were fascinating to me and nearly every Kesh was a warrior, unless too young, too old or crippled. They fought with claws and teeth, some used weapons made of bone or other natural material and these were more a symbol of status than a tool for killing, and were never used on one of their own.
Their chief, Kor'ne'tuel, which translated to Black Sun Summer, noticed that I took more than a passing interest in his people and he responded in kind by taking interest in me. I was invited once every cycle of the moon to eat dinner with him under the full moon, where he asked me questions of his own people then of my own.
I first thought that he was trying to learn secrets, find a way he could defeat human armies in combat. After the third time I pushed that notion aside and understood that he was teaching me, trying to guide my thoughts so that I found my own answers. I now realize that he was teaching me how to think, which questions were important and which weren't.
Two years passed by and despite being a slave, or what they called Huin'tal which meant White Wanderer, I was enjoying the simplicity of life. I knew what tasks I had to perform and I did them because I wanted to, not because I would be beat like the slaves of humans. Actually, the Kesh do not physically harm Huin'tal, instead they have them perform a task for varying lengths of time.
My first offense, dropping a bucket of water, had me standing under the crashing waterfall for a night so that I could better understand the importance of water, and respect it. My second offense, which came when I became to comfortable and said words I should not of, had me standing one legged on a pole until the sun finished its path through the sky.
These punishments allowed time for reflection, but I saw them as challenges and told myself if I failed I would be allowing them to think they were better than me. Like the puzzles presented before me as a youth I did not allow myself to fail.
It was after two years that the frequency I met with their Chief increased, and our meetings went from simple conversations to practical exercises and to explanations on their culture, in response I explained the difference in our people and went as far as to explain the concept of slaves. To which he laughed deeply and commented on the waste of such energy.
When you spend years with someone you can't help but find things you like and dislike, when you spend years in a foreign culture you have no choice but to adapt to survive. It wasn't in my nature to be ignorant and so I adapted and found myself thinking as one of them at times, I thought less of myself.
While cleaning near the end of the day I bared witness to the same barbarian men that I had fought a couple years back enter the camp, though I merely looked upon them slight interest, none of the hate I had felt before resurfaced even though I felt it should have. In confusion I followed them to the Chiefs hut and it was then that I learned that Alexandrias army was on the march again, this time it was being lead by the same dark wizard that had allied with them in the past.
I was rather foolish and wasn't thinking when I rushed into their meeting, mouth opening to speak before realizing what I had done. One of the barbarians bared his teeth and raised his hand to strike me, though his hand was halted by one of the silent guards near the entrance. I was Huin'tal, and I was not to be touched or acknowledged by any except the Chief.
To my surprise the Chief invited me to his side and gave me permission to speak. It seemed he knew what I was going to say before I did. This was my first real act of betrayal and it was difficult to speak at first, but gradually my words came faster and faster and I found myself drawing out formations on the maps, explaining military tactics. I spoke for hours, my throat too parched to say another word when I finally looked up.
The barbarians looked at me in disbelief while the Kesh were doing what I can only describe as smiling. I had laid out everything I could for them, every detail I had ever known and studied. It had poured out of me like a flood. The only wild card I explained, was my father. I simply did not know the extent of what he could do and I felt a twinge of regret because of that.
I was sent back to my duties after that out-burst, but every night from there on out I was invited back to the Chiefs tent and we would speak in detail of combat. Not things simply relating to the oncoming war, but of its every essence, it's necessity. He showed me how the Kesh fought, with their hands and teeth, hit and run tactics and how to move in silence.
Weeks passed and I saw a variety of forest creatures coming to greet the Chief. More Kesh and even stranger bi-pedal animal like beings. Stranger still were the faerie, with their beautiful complexions and gossamer wings. Their tallest stood a head shorter than me and they appeared frail to the touch, I was mesmerized by their beauty.
Then like what happened nearly three years ago I went out towards battle, only this time I had real reason to fight, I knew what to expect. I acted as an adviser to the Chief and ran supplies and messages to his warriors, I felt apart of something.
The day finally came when the first battle was soon to be underhand, this time we rode out to meet them and fight on a ground of our choosing. There would be no skirmishes, the Kesh wanted to end this in one decisive victory.
I stood like I had before, on a hill-top above the battle, except this time I was not merely watching but calling out my advice to the Chief. We countered Alexanrias every move, tactically we were always a step ahead of them. Until the mages entered the fray. No matter our course there was magic to counter our counters, so we retreated back into the woods so that the Kesh and allies could fight using their skirmishing methods.
That night I found my destiny once again changing hands, I woke to a hand clasped over my mouth. When I took a breath in panic I realized that I also inhaled whatever the hidden man had been holding, I faded to unconsciousness hearing the deafening roar of the Chief as he threw himself into battle against his assailants.
I awoke sometime later, chained to a wall in what I knew to be a dungeon. I knew then that I was in a city, likely Alexandria. I was certain that magic had played a part in getting me there so quickly and my suspicions were confirmed moments later when my father emerged from the shadows, flanked by two men wrapped in ink like darkness that swirled about their forms.
When I looked upon his face I realize that I felt next to nothing for the man. Anger and fear were there, but barely noticeable, only pity remained for him. Pity that he could not see how things how I did, that he could not understand what I did.
I have explained that my father is a Wizard of the highest caliber, but I have not explained exactly what that means or what sort of feats he is capable of. I did not understand the scope of his abilities either, but I would soon learn them.
My father wanted my knowledge, he wanted me to give him what I had given the Kesh. I refused of course. Even his attempts to torture the information from me were met with the steely resolve and determination that he had taught me as a youth. But there was something else he could do, he had a magic that I had never witnessed. He could enter ones mind and do what he wanted.
While I resisted his magical intrusions the best I could there was little I could do against his pervasive magics. It hurts me to say that in the end he got what he wanted, he reached into my mind and tore the information from me at the risk of mentally crippling me. I do not know if you've had information ripped from your mind, but I assure you that you have never undergone that sort of pain, there are no words for it.
I was a gibbering wreck, worth nothing to him and something that he would have likely disposed of had those shrouded men at his side not spoken up. They knew my story and with how wrecked and broken I was they deemed that I could be molded into something formidable. If Machiavelli would grant them this request they would consider the payment he owed them fulfilled. He agreed and so I was handed over as a broken man.
One thing you must understand is that while I paint a clear picture to you now it wasn’t the case at the time. My father was a powerful wizard, as I have told you many times, but he was especially powerful with enchantments. I wasn’t simply handed over to these men cloaked in darkness my father first used magic to scramble my memories, cover some up and rearrange others. More than that though, he stripped me of my very identity. That night I died for the first time, Nicoli was no more.
I should also remind you that at the time I was but a sixteen year old boy. By the standards of the day I was a man, old enough to die in war, but I really knew very little of the world at the time. I was handed over as a blank canvas, or perhaps a better analogy would be that I was but a stone block that could be chipped away until I became what they needed.
They fed me lies of course, about who I was and how I’d come to be in their family. It was explained to me that I would need to do undergo their training all over again, so that they could make sure that I hadn’t forgotten their ways. These were the Veiled-Ones, a sect of hired killers that were infamous for their efficiency at killing as well as their Radiim technique.
Those early days wit the Veiled-Ones were strange, even by my standards. I was more akin to the sort of sentient constructs that mages created than to any human. My new masters cared nothing for the sort of academic knowledge my father had, they cared about one thing only. How proficient of a killer could I become?
My fathers techniques were, thankfully, not perfect. I still retained my instincts, my fine motor skills and eventually a drive to succeed that surpassed what I had shown before. I had nothing holding me back at the time, no history with which to compare events and no experiences to learn from. I was little more than an animal that could speak.
I'm sure you can imagine some of the horrors that a secret organization with no morals and facing no repercussions would force someone to do. I can not and will not go into the specifics, because I still hold loyalty of some sort to them and do not wish to bring down their wrath. But, I can describe to you some of what I felt during the Radiim process.
If you've read my ramblings this far you know that I am no stranger to pain, but at this point in my life it was not so much that you would think anything of it. But, pain was soon to take on an entire new meaning to me. The Radiim were masters of torture and the scars that my body bares are a testament to that.
The Radiim prefer the traditional methods of torture. That is to say that they usually did not use magic on their victims unless it was for the purpose of keeping them alive. They started off small, by lighting my left hand on fire and forcing me to watch as I screamed in horrible agony. I watched the skin charcoal and melt away, I saw tendons melt. Still, it was nothing compared to the process of healing that occurred after.
After a certain amount of time the body simply detaches itself from the pain, ignores it. It can't handle that much pain, it's a shock to it and enough pain can mentally cripple worse than a physical injury. This is the line that the Radiim rode and often times crossed , one in five victims became useless at some point and were disposed of as failures.
Days became weeks, weeks to months and months to years. I did more than endure their training, I welcomed it. Over those years I realized I was different then most. When I was tortured I did not cry out for a deity, nor my parents or anything at all. My shouts were simply those of pain. I never wished to make pacts with dark powers to make the pain stop or threaten my torturers.
Do not think I did not cry out, my tears, pain and blood were all as real as the man next to me. But I always asked one question. Why? To which I always got some response, a calm and measured answer that explained that question no matter how many times I asked it.
'Why' became mine, I asked it always and always got an answer. I found a certain comfort in that knowledge. My words might not make sense to you, but if you ever become someones captive you will understand how important the small things are.
Mundane torture gave way to magical torture and that eventually gave over to spiritual torture. I am sure you are asking how can ones spirit be scarred and tortured, and I would tell you if I could. But I assure you that my soul is no less scarred than my body.
The torture was done not because the Veiled-Ones were sadistic or evil, though I will not argue any of those points. But they were in preparation for what was to come. They taught in mastering the body through pain, purification through sacrifice of flesh. It was only once those that completed their initial training and had made the needed sacrifices could they learn to master themselves, to break down the self-imposed limits and reach your true potential.
Once I realized this and understood it, once I saw the effects of the training and the different levels of skill that were involved I latched on. This was something else I could latch onto, I could make my own and individualize myself based on technique and skill.
When you train as a Veiled-One there is no end, no light at the end of the tunnel. Merely steps that the Grand Master sets before you when he feels you are ready. He alone will come to you and guide you on your path, and rarely are two paths ever the same.
So it was that he came to me after my many years of being forged. He was a man that wasn't simply shrouded in shadow, to me he seemed to be built of them. I recall that he was never seen in more than the light of a torch. But what sticks out most was his mere presence, it was humbling. I averted my eyes, took a knee or bowed out of pure instinct. He was my better in every way. The seniors often referred to him as The Watcher because of how often they would come upon him doing just that. One moment there was nothing there and the next he would be standing there watching the training, though he never spoke at those times.
But, let me go back to what had meant to say about the first time he approached me. I remember him laying an ungloved hand on my shoulder, then on my cheek. He did not say anything but all others in the room had turned to give him their attention, then in barely a whisper that echoed with power he spoke.
“D'Angelo is ready.”
When those words were spoken he removed his hand and walked away, back into the shadows. I had been named and proclaimed ready by the Grand Master, that same day I was shown to a new sleeping quarters where eighteen others like myself lived. I was given my first charm, shown to the armory where I could outfit myself and then sent on my first task.
Name used: Sigurd (The dragon slayer in some rare cases)
Age: 32
Appearance: The only notable deviation from the image being that his entire left arm and part of his shoulder is encased in stone.
Height: 6ft 4"
Weight: 98kg
Weapons
Steel Longsword, fairly average in terms of length and weight.
Scaled Shield, an ordinary iron rimmed wooden shield covered with the scaly hide of a dragon. The shield itself is nearly impervious to flame, and can ward off most forms of physical and magical attacks as it still withholds the magical qualities of the dragon. It is roughly 100 cm in diameter.
Throwing Axes: Sigurd carries two small steel tipped throwing axes attached to his belt on his right hip, which he can throw with impressive accuracy.
Armour: As well as his shield and stone arm he wears fur and leather boots, leather and iron leggings and iron plated leather armour. He has a steel pauldron on his right arm, his left fends for itself. He wears an odd full iron horned helm (unique to his homeland) which will hopefully prevent him getting his brains beaten out.
Physical Stats: Sigurd is, outside of his stone arm, fairly mortal, though impressive none-the-less. He has a near peak human physique, easily able to bench 200kg and sprint at up to 15mph for a sustained period. However, his body is still fallible to all the weaknesses of humanity. The Stone Curse in its infancy does provide him some small resistance to poisons and other debilitations beyond that of an ordinary human, but not significantly.
Abilities: Trained from a young age in the arts of war, he uses a perfected Viking style of combat, in which he utilizes his sword and shield in equal measure in both offensive and defensive styles. Basically, he catches the opponent’s weapon on either his shield or sword, depending on the angle of the strike, and lashes out with his free weapon. Either one can cause incredibly damage. If his shield is lost in combat his stone arm can be used in much the same way, the only disadvantage being that he loses the larger surface area of his shield, and projectiles can target his head or unprotected right side. The advantage is with some luck he could grab the opponent’s weapon and snap it in half.
The Stone Curse: Sigurd’s left arm is made of marble, to put things simply. However, the arm has a few magical qualities which account for his prowess.
It does not encumber him in the slightest, which means he can throw the arm around with all its strength at no disadvantage.
It has no issue with lactic acid build up, and is near impervious to conventional forms of damage. The marble itself is incredibly thick, making up the entire arm, and has been shown to slowly repair itself if scratched or cracked.
It dulls the effect of magic which targets Sigurd or the arm itself. In theory, he could reach into the void and effect otherwise intangible opponents such as ghosts with his left arm.
It can apply massive amounts of force; his left arm is roughly three times the strength of his right, allowing it to roughly curl 240kg.
Sigurd's Story (So Far): Sigurd was born in the far north of his homeland, dragons scoured the earth and his people could do nothing. He grew to impressive fame after his fabled slaying of a dragon, the first to do so. The act in which he killed the beast was also notable, he apparently dealt a paralysing blow with his left arm, and chopped straight through the creatures skull with a long sword. The tales were not believed, until his first public appearance revealed a startling and controversial trait, his left arm and shoulder were encased in stone. Living stone which did not hinder him in the slightest, yet allowed him to place ridiculous force into his blows, and remain unscathed in the process.
His fame grew as he slew a number of dragons on his travels, though he grew listless and weary of trekking through the north. In an encounter that by all accounts should have been his last he was thrown into the dimension of the Liason's tournament, the Way of the Warrior, where he was forced into combat with a number of dangerous individuals. Despite being obviously outclassed the warrior known as Sigurd performed well, before coming unstuck against an undead opponent with power beyond anything he had ever seen. When all his attacks failed him he was stabbed from behind and suffered a mortal blow, forcing him to leave the tournament in second place, his prize being his life.
After returning to his homeland with the knowledge of his tournament victories and losses he encountered a small dragon that embarrassingly forced him to flee battle for the first time, and after doing so resolved to pick up throwing axes and practice with them for any future encounters of the sort. Since then Sigurd has mostly wandered, the few remaining dragons in his homeland managing to evade his pursuit and cause untold devastation.
Race: Human (mutant) Sex: Female Age: 21 HT: 5'7" WT: 137 lbs EY: Light Forest Green HR: Rich Apple Red SK: White
Description:
Trixi, on the outside, doesn’t look like much to the untrained eyes. Her casual wear often consists of a tunic blouse, jeans and boots giving her a modern yet energetic look to her appearance. A fair skinned woman of 21 years, she has short red hair often kept in a short cut reaching down to her neck base and curls inward to her face as if to frame it. Her green eyes seem to glow and dance with a touch of energy, often giving her a mischievous aura. A soft, heart shaped face tops a lithe yet agile built despite her strength training. She doesn’t have much of bust through her ass is pretty tone from her focus on agility and speed.
Currently she’s dressed in her night shift attire which doesn’t fully even the odds against minor demons and other supernatural creatures, but it does offer protection without completely breaking her bank all at once.
~}|Equipment|{~
Armor Bust
Head/face: N/A Neck: N/A Shoulders: N/A Chest/Torso: Light Armor made from a military grade material, similar to leather armor though, which is in the guise of her jacket. It can resist slash and cutting damage, even sealed against common elements such as water and cold.
Arms
Upper arms: N/A Forearms: N/A Wrists: N/A
Lower Half
Waist/Hips: Pouch belt including- Conductive Wiring supplies, Kunai knives, and detachable holders for her batons. Legs: Slightly loose, flexible material similar to her jacket. Feet: High grade military boots made to resist abrasion and extremely durable to weather or harsh conditions.
Weapons
Weapon Description: Trixi uses two metal, collapsible batons made designed to take a beating from claws, swords, and other weapons that demons could easily use against her. At the end of her weapons is a small, half inch thick strap which hooks to her wrist and prevents it from flying far from her grasp should she be disarmed. When needed, Trixi can easily send her electrical current through them and use them in the same manner as her taser hands, the default power the same. Size: * Total Length: 16 inches long each Modifications:
In the handle of each are capacitors, each able to hold a single charge and can discharge it to create a more powerful jolt to her attack. 1 charge = 4 seconds and about .005 amps.
Additional Items
Conductive Wiring: Thanks to a few contacts within her community, Trixi always have a supplier for specialized wiring to use along with her Electrokinesis. Flexible and thin like thread, this wire is made of steel to make it more durable to merely being tugged apart or ripped. Sharp implicates such as blades, daggers or similar edges can still cut it. When applied with an electrical current, such as either her Snap, Crackle, and Pop or her Hand Tasers ability, it amplifies it with minimal stress or effort on her part causing it to become similar to an electrified fencing on contact.
total: 100 yards- 50 used in the Kunai
Kunai (steel): Each Kunai is about 15 cm long, from blade tip to ring end and design in mind to be conductive. Among the sharpest edge one can get, they are also thick enough to stand being throw into wooden surfaces and the ground to hold firm.
x5 Kunai with about 10 yards of wire attached to each one and a clip, one that easily fasten fast or release from a metal ring on her belt thanks to a powerful magnet on the end. She can easily discharge or charge it with her own biological charge, however she’s been unable to affect anything else.
x10 Kunai which she can use for throwing, makeshift weapons or other creative ideas that come into her mind.
~}|Natural abilities|{~
Senses Sight- Human- 20/20 vision Smell- Human Touch- Human Taste- Human Sound- Human
Natural Stats
Since Trixi is a mutant, her anatomy is almost the exact same as a normal human save for one difference. She’s basically a walking generator so her electrical stimulation has started to increase her own natural stats into in the peak condition find in most athletes.
Strength- Trixi was able to bench press about 175 lbs easily after taking strength and weight training. When her abilities showed up, that increased it to up to 500 lbs but anything over it begins to become a strain.
Speed- In a sprint, Trixi can reach up 10 seconds flat in a 100 m distance race when she puts all her energy into it. Her reflexes, reaction time and ability to turn on dime reflect this, being close or marginally above human levels.
Stamina- Trixi’s training has focused on outlasting her foes, usually demons or monsters, as she might be running for her life or trying to tire them in combat until she discovers a weakness. She has hone this to the state of olympic athletes enabling her to withstand extreme temperatures as low as -13 F (-25 C) and high as 120 F (49 C) for several hours without the proper equipment, any more and it will start to affect her. While pacing herself, she can run up to 350 miles for 80 hours without sleep. However, she’s still human and doing this continually will wear her down over time making her collapse abruptly at the end.
~}|Magic|{~
Name: Electrokinesis Description: Trixi can create and manipulate her own source of electricity thanks to her ability of influencing the electrons and protons in the air. However instead of being able to literally use her skin or the very air itself to conduct her electrical attacks and fry every living being in a certain area, this ability is primarily discharged out of her hands. Since it stems from herself, Trixi can manipulate everything from the amps to the concentration put into each attack, allowing this broad ability to be divided into three focused areas.
* Snap, Crackle, and Pop! By increasing the focus in her hand and letting it build, Trixi can force an electrical current within the palm of her hand(s) then gradually build up. She can create a one shot lightning like blast at a target and will cause serious damage if it directly hits. It acts and looks like lightning but both its power and speed are reduced compared to the real deal. The fastest it can travel is at 50-60 mph and into a straight line from her location.
Type and Range: Offensive and Long (Reach is up to 4 meters/about 13 foot) Preps required: Can be casted any time, but the longer the prep is charged than stronger it becomes. Every 4 seconds it increases the amps by .05, the starting amp is .04. Duration: If Trixi is interrupted while charging before reaching the next charge then she has to restart all over, losing any seconds for the particular charge. However she can release the current charge at any time she wishes but the power increase will depend on how many charges she has completed.
* Hand Taser! Focusing her electrical current through her hands, they become decent quality tasers (.04 amps in each hand) that can shock briefly with each touch. Thi soften leaves the area on contact numb for a few seconds or shorter, depending on the individual's experience and resistance to electricity. The longer contact is held then the more powerful the shock can become and the highest it can reach is enough to kill a full grown human at around .15 amps. However, this takes up to a minute to reach such a level even with conductive elements to give it a boost.
Type and Range: Offensive and Close Range (Contact) Preps required: Due to the limited range and non-lethal aspect, this ability doesn’t require preps to activate. However prolong touch can cause issues since it increases amps with contact, edging into effects that associate with being hit by large amounts of electricity like numbness, loss of motor function, and even paralysis of the heart. Duration: Being her prime offensive measures, the tingling effects last 2-3 seconds after each touch. Continual hits to the same area can create a numbness over time and followed by other more dangerous side effects.
*Flash Bang! Fisting up her hand, Trixi creates a small, bluish white orb made in the center of her palm. Charging for about 6 seconds, she can abruptly release it and douse a small area of 3 meters (in circumference) in pure light. The light is bright enough to blind any individual within the set range and for couple seconds, at least 2-3, or longer depending on the individual’s recovery rate. This ability is a double edged sword however because if Trixi doesn’t brace and close her eyes fast enough, she can be caught in the crossfire. Losing her sight for several precious moments could mean surviving or death.
Type and Range: Defensive and Close to Mid range. Preps required: Unlike the other attacks, this spell doesn’t have a charging prep that can make it stronger. Instead it requires the full 6 seconds to charge before it can be used. Duration: The attack lasts for about 2-3 seconds before it starts to fade, getting dimmer until it fades at 5 seconds.
~}|Adapted/Learned Skills|{~
Weapons Training
~Baton and Knife (Kunai) training
Fighting Style/Flavors
~Trixi’s style takes influences from combat forms like kali, arnis, escrima, and many other sources that’s not easy to keep track of. In a more general sense, her style is more of a hodge podge mix which started off in kali then evolved as she learned more. Her preferred tactic is to avoid her opponent’s attacks while ducking in close to land her own, gradually wearing them down with her offensive ability. With her focus on both speed and endurance, this has been rather effective for her.
~}|Additional Information|{~
Bio/Summary:
A mutant girl turned monster hunter and most recently, plane traveller, her humble origins of being in a broken home and surviving her drunken dad’s abuse was long behind her. Things seemed to change the day she went into puberty and her powers started to emerge. First it was physical only as she met a cute guy named Salem with a reckless, wild nature who showed her the truth about the night. That it was filled with monsters that went bump in the darkness. Gradually she was changing into a more animated and wild side of her once timid personality, adopting the nickname Trixi due to her mischievious appearance.
At 16, she learned why when Salem relieved his true nature as a incubus. It was the first time she was able to physically manifest her abilities with electricity when he tried to force himself onto her. She tasered his groin which resulted in her being sent out the window and crashing into the street from the third story apartment. Bloody and broken, she tried to crawl away only to be seized by Salem before both were shortly caught into a Devil’s Snare rune trap set by her would be mentor, Samuel Rictor.
After it was all over, Trixi awoke to find three things that ruined her entire life. First she was too damaged and broken to live on her and wouldn't heal right without Samuel’s help. Second it seemed magic and mutation didn’t mix well because when she attempted to get Salem off her, the two energies merged forcing a type of ‘familiar bond’ between the incubus and her. Finally… the very home and life she had was blown up in the result of her mutant ability and his magic clashing. Everything she knew, herself included, was declared dead at the scene.
It was a brand new start whether she wanted it or not. For the next five years, Trixi was tossed into the supernatural world and taught to sink or swim as Samuel mentored her. Her powers weren’t as flexible as the mage’s but he made sure she would make it out of each of his assignments with only the necessary injuries. This taught her how to think through pain and make the most of it, her abilities getting better and more powerful with time.
Now… she just had to survive his next hairbrained scheme of dimension/plane hopping. Next stop, The Black Mountain. Whoopie.
Tall and robust, Gigue carries himself with the demeanor of a champion, shoulders unfurled and chest barreling at all times; his expression is that of a guile and savvy warrior, proud of his competence yet wary of his shortcomings, and the man's straight, blonde hair is worn in a ponytail, the gentle flow and noble color complimenting his valiant visage. His everyday attire consists of a white tuxedo, crimson shirt, a white pair of trousers and a black tie; when on duty, or simply on the streets, he lets his armor take place of the shirt.
Abilities
Physical ability: Gigue is abnormally strong, surpassing the limits of the normal human body with his deadlifting record of 2200 pounds, thanks to his already impressive muscle power being augmented by Ki training. However, everything else about him seems rather tame in comparison: he certainly is agile, fast and robust, but not incredibly so; while capable of fighting on even ground with well trained martial artists by virtue of his skill and dexterity alone, Gigue's gargantuan might still remains his trump card.
Aura of Hyperarmor: while greatly beneficial, enhanced physical strength was only secondary in his Ki training: the main goal was to learn the Hyperarmor technique; a spell, which allows him to summon a protective aura over the surface of his skin. It is can completely negate humongous amounts of damage, standing up easily to shotgun fire, warhammer strikes and even cannonballs; however, for all its potency, it is just as limited, the protection lasting for only about half a second; and afterwards, it cannot be used again immediately - the spell puts intense strain on his Ki channels, Gigue having to mend them first.
This can be done relatively fast with the aid of magical amulets, but still requires a certain amount of concentration: specifically, he has to clasp his hands together in front of his chest, with the amulet held in between the palms - this allows to most efficiently utilize its power - and enrich his Ki, while directing it towards the damaged channels. This process take from start to finish only about 3 seconds thanks to Gigue's training - which is rather manageable even in combat.
The aura itself works much differently from conventional armor; or even a physical object, for the matter of fact. It moves together with Gigue's body, yet there is absolutely zero force transfer - the aura does not ever actually touch his skin, hovering just a millimeter above. That is due to the aura being fixed to his own Ki system, instead of the physical body, and any force acting upon it is instead met by the far superior resistance of his spiritual energy; as a result, Gigue cannot be even moved or slowed down while the aura is active. Another noteworthy detail would be that the entire aura is a singular unit of energy - in other words, rather than being broken down into a myriad of bonds, the entire volume of energy contained within is shared by each and every particle, meaning no attack will ever penetrate until the aura is entirely drained.
The Black Mountain's Burden: having arrived at the Black Mountain for his first time, Gigue has yet to accomodate himself to its foreign energies, and as result, the Aura of Hyperarmor is malfunctioning, appearing as a solid, inflexible carpace which renders him immobile while it is active.
Equipment
Body Armor: as a more permanent alternative to his Hyperamor, Gigue wears silk and leather armor, covering all of his body, save for the head, hands and the feet. The silk is tightly woven into a thick jumpsuit, almost impenetrable to light arms fire: it can stop a lead .45 revolver shot at 5 yards, the bullet leaving only a light bruise on his body. The leather armor is worn on top, providing protection from melee weapons; though, unlike the silk jumpsuit, it consists of many stiff pads stitched together, and since it is so inflexible, it isn't used to cover the crook of his elbows or knees. Both are painted a metallic sheen to absorb less light and keep their temperature comfortable to the wearer.
His shoes are also rather tough, but are made of thinner leather; their tips, however, are plated with metal, as well as the soles, making his kicks a notch more painful and damaging. Metal also sees use in his head protection - an oval steel mask, painted white, with just two holes for the eyes, covered with a thin, transparent film, and a filter over the mouth, consisting of wide metal grating, cloth, and activated charcoal.
Brass knuckles: a pair of steel knuckledusters, made a perfect fit for his large hands. Gigue hadn't been born clenching a sword - but his fists were always there when he needed them, and with things as they were, the man grew to be much more accustomed to good ol' pugilism, rather than weapons. His skill in hand-to-hand combat far surpasses that of his armed fighting, and so, simply having a harder fist became the natural choice for him.
Throwing Knives & Ceramic Bombs: more akin to tools, rather than serious weapons, the knives and bombs let Gigue keep his opponents busy as he advances into punching range; or do the same, but instead, making sure his clients escape safely, while at it. Both are still vicious against unprotected flesh, easily piercing it and even shattering bone. The knives have sharpened blades, leaving stab wounds in their target, rather than just puncturing holes, and each weighing 1.5 pounds, they can stick handle deep into soft tissue. Overall, Gigue carries 6 of them.
The ceramic bombs consist of three layers: an explosive core; a layer of smoke-producing fuel; and a hard ceramic shell. Rather than exploding on impact, the bombs work in an old-fashioned way: by lighting a fuse, which burns for 5 seconds before reaching the core. Upon explosion, the ceramic shatters, creating a cloud of shrapnel, and the fuel follows, spreading in a wide radius and covering it with thick, mildly noxious smoke as it burns. Gigue carries 3 of them around and an additional 2 smokebombs with soft shells and weak explosive charges, allowing their use without risking harm to any bystanders or allies.
Miscellaneous Items: a small talisman, with a ruby in its center, enchanted to aid him the meding of his Ki; a gold plated lighter to light his cigars and fuses; cigars; whiskey in a metal flask; bandages and proper disinfectants; and lastly, a flask of oil, with a label painted on in order to not mistake it for whiskey.
