CanisMajoris2

The Sunday Group

Guess I'd be too late to pop in, eh? I sorta just found this as I was rolling through and it piqued my interest immediately.

Hellscapers! [PRETTY MUCH ALWAYS ACCEPTING EXCEPT WHEN WE HAVE TEN PEOPLE (WE DON'T)!]

There he was! Under the onslaught of those nefarious monsters... he will fall now! The King identified Nefas in an instant, his soulless eye sockets blazing with the light that could not be quenched. While the Warden was busy with the Mayan, the King sprinted around them like a wraith.

"I will make you see me," the King rasped, his broken sword held tightly in his grip. The King cackled with glee as he saw this pillar of authority come under the barrage of these anarchic beasts. Running, he leapt over a chunk of concrete on the ground, mantling onto the floor and sprinting so fast that the fire seemed to streak from his hands. His feet glided up the wall as he ran around the charging crustacean. Bundling up energy in his bent knees, he suddenly pushed off the wall, diving on Old N. Using the monstrous beast's back as a stepping stone, the King then leapt behind the warden, driving the broken blade towards his back and at the same time reaching out to grasp at the energy that he could sense... so deliciously... in that beast's head.

Shadowed Apotheosis

If you are accepting, I'd be really interested in joining.

Hellscapers! [PRETTY MUCH ALWAYS ACCEPTING EXCEPT WHEN WE HAVE TEN PEOPLE (WE DON'T)!]

"Not A key; THE Key. It is a particular demon--not entirely sure who or what it is, but I'd imagine that it would have to be someone rather dangerous... a practical guardian of itself." The King was unaware of the irony of such a statement, having never met, talked to, or even seen Betty at all during his damnation. A wash of heat came over him as he closes his eyes: not one of the murderous brutes here have accomplished what he so desperately craves... but there might just be a thing... a lurker... a thief... that most cowardly of creatures sneaking about the building. The King tip-toed over the body of a guard, wary of when they would all start to regenerate. One last fellow stood, obstinate as the rest had been, as the King kicked out his legs and drained the consciousness from him.

"These damned souls and demons are nothing but monsters, hollow shells of beings long forgotten from history..." The King anxiously whispered to himself, "They cannot be led, controlled, or ordered... 'tis madness, unholy madness." The Crusader from Constantinople fought such a beast, though it were a small one, a damned soul nary upon a hundred or so years old. The King sent a pulse of energy into the knight, a measure of pity for him. The poor knight, thought he, trying to organize this fool's mission. 'Twere a raid, a rape, and a pillage, not some noble quest for glory or absolution. This was the selfish incarnate, an indulgence of the basest emotions of man. It was madness.

The King fingered the hilt of his blade as he watched this Lovecraftian crustacean lumber about. He shook his head and raced for the door... which door? Ah! The fumes must be getting to his head... God-damned demons... and whatnot. He watched the Mayan with the masochist on top do what they did, and chafed inwardly that such wanton destruction could illicit such wanton pleasure. He leapt through the ruined wall, seeking a great beast to fight... a great guardian of the Gates of Hell. "Where is that warden? I need a warden..."

Hellscapers! [PRETTY MUCH ALWAYS ACCEPTING EXCEPT WHEN WE HAVE TEN PEOPLE (WE DON'T)!]

The King found himself slightly unsure of what to do. With one of the escapees beckoning, he felt it altogether prudent to do something that would ingratiate himself with this band of damned and demons. Without a word he moved wraithlike towards the man, towards the battle. He saw a few of the guards lining up on the monstrous beast that mowed down rank upon rank, and, with a gleeful flash of his eyes, he danced forward, drawing the broken sword, and drove the blade through the back and up out of the chest of one guard, dropping the other with a quick drain from the head.

Another was tiptoeing towards the cybernetic fellow, and with a careful sprint--careful around the bodies! they might not be quite dead!--he delivered this man's head from his body with a brutal thwack. The King walked up beside his new compatriot, placing a hand upon his shoulder and delivering a boost of energy--to show his friendliness if nothing else--and then strode forward, cutting down another guard with a mutilating slash to the guts.

"So... what's your name?" The King asked, draining another guard and watching his bloodless face fall flat on the ground. His voice was grating and difficult to discern; he coughed as his hands burned brightly: "And where's the Key?"

Hellscapers! [PRETTY MUCH ALWAYS ACCEPTING EXCEPT WHEN WE HAVE TEN PEOPLE (WE DON'T)!]

The King had not been part of the group per se. He wasn't even entirely aware that such an expedition had been organized--he being a rather arrogant and self-centered man--and as such his exposure to this... madness... was, to say in the least, a shock to him. Approaching from the rear of a rampaging motley sort, he clutched at the broken sword that rarely left his hand. He took neither the most impressive nor most unobtrusive way there, and in this way went unnoticed. His gait was long and proud, his feet falling silently as if he were nothing but a mirage. A grand mirage to be sure, but a mirage--a mere thought--nonetheless.

The King clutched one of the guards, about to ask him a question when he realized he had inadvertently pulled the head off of a maimed body. Dropping the head in disgust, he padded forward again, the ripping explosions going ignored by the pale austerity of the King's face. His flaming eyes shone blue, empty eye-sockets betraying no thought or emotion. The gas was what worried him the most--he had always been afraid of the things he couldn't necessarily control--so he stayed far from Villiam, darting past a pair of wrestling demons.

A troop of guards stood before him, staring not at him, but to the side, vaguely in the direction of battle. Blinking, the King realized that these were not guards at all, but the lost souls that went unnoticed by all. They watched the battle with pale eyes, unseen, unwept. These were the damned on their passage to the deepest bowels of Hell, where they would never be seen again. Strange, mused the King, that they all seemed to be wearing gold.

A guard tore him away from his thoughts, setting upon him with an electrified club. Dashing away from the swing, the King reached out and gripped the man by the forehead, quickly draining his energy and dropping him to the ground, unconscious.

He grimaced, muttering to himself,"Allies hurt more than enemies, especially if you want the same thing..."

Hellscapers! [PRETTY MUCH ALWAYS ACCEPTING EXCEPT WHEN WE HAVE TEN PEOPLE (WE DON'T)!]

Exules Rex

Exules Rex
"The Banished King"

Appearance: It is clear that Exules was once a human, but any semblance of humanity has all but disappeared from his facade. His eyes are gone, the sockets filled with blue flames. His palms are afire, and his body covered with wounds that have not and never will heal. Most conspicuous of all is the wound across his throat, a dark red slash that cuts his throat in twain.

Biography: Exules Rex once had a name, but like so many demons and Cambions, he has become separated from this identity that he only vaguely remembers.

From the point of an outsider, Exules Rex was once a great king of men, a ruler that spread over a vast and wealthy kingdom. Power seeped through every pore of the Banished King's skin, and still he craved more. He murdered and conquered, razed and pillaged to force the submission of the princes that surrounded him. He inherited the neighboring kingdom of his brother through a spider web of assassins, married his sister to a neighboring Pagan tribal kingdom, the king of which later mysteriously died. Using the claim of his sister, he absorbed the kingdom into his own augmenting realm. Marrying himself to the daughter of a Lombard, he claimed the Italian heartland, and through bloody conquest became the ruler of the Alpine passes.

He became obsessed with power, obsessed with the grandeur of his status. No palace could be larger or more magnificent than his. No army could defeat his in battle. No single man could vanquish him in combat. He placed his status higher and higher, brushing the very brink of the heavens. A great stone castle of white and gray was built upon the Alpine peaks, set there to touch the very hand of God. The Banished King was more than a man, then; he was more than a god. He WAS God, creator and destroyer of worlds. The fortress could never be finished, never satisfied him. Ever more towers of gold and white shot up into the clouds until he had exhausted his kingdom's wealth and manpower.

All the while the nobles of the land were conspiring against him, plotting the prideful king's downfall. Supplication of the great man's presence could easily be achieved through flattery, and these treacherous nobles soon gained audience with the king of kings, creator and destroyer of worlds. The great man, who had conquered continents, was suddenly beset upon by his very own obsequious squires. He was slashed--the wounds were violently done to show the weakness of the man--across the face, on the arms, over his body. A final noble flung the golden crown from his head and slashed open his throat, letting the deep red blood pour onto the glassy marble floors.

For his sins in the world, he was denied death and entry to heaven. Demons, sent to collect the soul of the Banished King, viewed his heinous treachery with such abhorrence that it became clear that even the mundane circles of Hell could be too lax on him. Thus they placed a curse upon him, binding his soul back with his scarred and mutilated body. He became doomed to walk the wastes of Hell, banished from the inclusion into a circle, into the eternal suffering of the damned. Mute and immortal, he walked too the wastes of Pandaemonium, delivering treacherous souls to their damnation close to the fury of Satan.

He is the Crusader against the traitor, a demon-soul forever tied to the mutilated body as a reminder of the evils of pride and treachery. Though he rarely needs to battle these traitors, as he possesses an uncanny method of persuasion (see abilities).

Personality: He is, after his fall, unmistakably muted. He rarely speaks, and when he does it is in a harsh grating tone that most don't even bother to register. He is necessarily fatalist and at the same time possesses some remarkably obstinate corner of pride that keeps with him all this time. He is a man banished from salvation and banished from suffering. Caught with this alienation--a great suffering in and of itself--the Banished King tends to view others in a harsh lens, rarely thinking fondly of anyone upon first meeting them. Trapped as it were in his own human body, he cannot but help to crawl inwardly, and so much of his personality is suppressed under a dark and vague notion of escaping this Limbo.

Greatest Sin: Pride. He had climbed the highest peak of pride and glory, and the Banished King fell further than most men ever will.

Motivation: He wishes to escape Hell and avenge his death on those who killed him. Following that he wishes to either die properly and suffer for eternity, or suffer in order to get to Heaven.

Skills: The Banished King was given the singular gift of energy draining, a symbolic ability that emphasized the soul-draining that treachery wreaks upon its user. It's useful for bending others to his will, as a weakened soul will most certainly be a conciliatory one.

Gear:
A broken sword he uses as a dagger
A tattered cloak
Piecemeal armor over his body
Water to clear his throat
Not much else...

Theme Song:Hunt for Red October

Other: He was known in his human life as someone of humor, even if he committed such heinous crimes. As it is, he will occasionally show some humanity and let loose a sarcastic quip.

Thousands Of Feet March To The Beat: A French Foreign Legion RP

As a history buff I can dig this like a shallow grave, to quote a critic.

Hellscapers! [PRETTY MUCH ALWAYS ACCEPTING EXCEPT WHEN WE HAVE TEN PEOPLE (WE DON'T)!]

@Kafka KomedyOkee. Energy draining work? Essentially the same idea that meets the constraints

@BananaI mean... Constantinople and the Alps are kinda far away... it'd be hard for him to be king of anyone from there ;P

Hellscapers! [PRETTY MUCH ALWAYS ACCEPTING EXCEPT WHEN WE HAVE TEN PEOPLE (WE DON'T)!]

Exules Rex

Exules Rex
"The Banished King"

Appearance: It is clear that Exules was once a human, but any semblance of humanity has all but disappeared from his facade. His eyes are gone, the sockets filled with blue flames. His palms are afire, and his body covered with wounds that have not and never will heal. Most conspicuous of all is the wound across his throat, a dark red slash that cuts his throat in twain.

Biography: Exules Rex once had a name, but like so many demons and Cambions, he has become separated from this identity that he only vaguely remembers.

From the point of an outsider, Exules Rex was once a great king of men, a ruler that spread over a vast and wealthy kingdom. Power seeped through every pore of the Banished King's skin, and still he craved more. He murdered and conquered, razed and pillaged to force the submission of the princes that surrounded him. He inherited the neighboring kingdom of his brother through a spider web of assassins, married his sister to a neighboring Pagan tribal kingdom, the king of which later mysteriously died. Using the claim of his sister, he absorbed the kingdom into his own augmenting realm. Marrying himself to the daughter of a Lombard, he claimed the Italian heartland, and through bloody conquest became the ruler of the Alpine passes.

He became obsessed with power, obsessed with the grandeur of his status. No palace could be larger or more magnificent than his. No army could defeat his in battle. No single man could vanquish him in combat. He placed his status higher and higher, brushing the very brink of the heavens. A great stone castle of white and gray was built upon the Alpine peaks, set there to touch the very hand of God. The Banished King was more than a man, then; he was more than a god. He WAS God, creator and destroyer of worlds. The fortress could never be finished, never satisfied him. Ever more towers of gold and white shot up into the clouds until he had exhausted his kingdom's wealth and manpower.

All the while the nobles of the land were conspiring against him, plotting the prideful king's downfall. Supplication of the great man's presence could easily be achieved through flattery, and these treacherous nobles soon gained audience with the king of kings, creator and destroyer of worlds. The great man, who had conquered continents, was suddenly beset upon by his very own obsequious squires. He was slashed--the wounds were violently done to show the weakness of the man--across the face, on the arms, over his body. A final noble flung the golden crown from his head and slashed open his throat, letting the deep red blood pour onto the glassy marble floors.

For his sins in the world, he was denied death and entry to heaven. Demons, sent to collect the soul of the Banished King, viewed his heinous treachery with such abhorrence that it became clear that even the mundane circles of Hell could be too lax on him. Thus they placed a curse upon him, binding his soul back with his scarred and mutilated body. He became doomed to walk the wastes of Hell, banished from the inclusion into a circle, into the eternal suffering of the damned. Mute and immortal, he walked too the wastes of Pandaemonium, delivering treacherous souls to their damnation close to the fury of Satan.

He is the Crusader against the traitor, a demon-soul forever tied to the mutilated body as a reminder of the evils of pride and treachery. Though he rarely needs to battle these traitors, as he possesses an uncanny method of persuasion (see abilities).

Personality: He is, after his fall, unmistakably muted. He rarely speaks, and when he does it is in a harsh grating tone that most don't even bother to register. He is necessarily fatalist and at the same time possesses some remarkably obstinate corner of pride that keeps with him all this time. He is a man banished from salvation and banished from suffering. Caught with this alienation--a great suffering in and of itself--the Banished King tends to view others in a harsh lens, rarely thinking fondly of anyone upon first meeting them. Trapped as it were in his own human body, he cannot but help to crawl inwardly, and so much of his personality is suppressed under a dark and vague notion of escaping this Limbo.

Greatest Sin: Pride. He had climbed the highest peak of pride and glory, and the Banished King fell further than most men ever will.

Motivation: He wishes to escape Hell and avenge his death on those who killed him. Following that he wishes to either die properly and suffer for eternity, or suffer in order to get to Heaven.

Skills: The Banished King was given the singular gift of mind control from the demons that cursed him, and he uses this to bend others' will to his wishes. There are several qualifications, however. He can't make anyone do something that only he will gain from, and he can't permanently brainwash someone, as it takes energy from him to do so. He is therefore bound to only use this ability if it benefits at least one other person and if he's well enough to do so.

Gear:
A broken sword he uses as a dagger
A tattered cloak
Piecemeal armor over his body
Water to clear his throat
Not much else...

Theme Song:Hunt for Red October

Other: He was known in his human life as someone of humor, even if he committed such heinous crimes. As it is, he will occasionally show some humanity and let loose a sarcastic quip.

@Kafka KomedyHere ye go, friend.