ElderF

Demons within

Even as his gaze sweep across the room, regarding each of its members frantically as though staring at them long enough would wake him up from this nightmare, the horrible reality that...that a demon of sorts was taking up residence in his body slowly crept in, and like the obstinate, malignant tumour that it was, it seems like its here to stay for good. And Jorn Wolff did not like that even one bit, his mind a whirling storm of activity as he slowly processed what he'd heard and seen so far. There had to be a way...a way to get this...this thing out of him...
Make no mistake, mortal, I dislike this notion as much as you do, now, if you just...

The voice had barely begun inside his head before he gripped tightly onto his right hand's index finger and pulled, the muffled, yet audible snap a clear indication that he just broke his finger. Jorn inhaled sharply as he resisted the urge to cry out from the pain, his expression hidden in the shadow of his brown hood. He was unsure if his actions caught any attention, but he didn't care nor did he heed if they would assume his actions to be strange. After all, strangeness seemed to be the currency around this madhouse. He needed the voice to stop, he needed his clarity of thoughts, his mind the last bastion of fortitude against the tide of dementia that threatened to overwhelm him. But even as he blinked away with watering eyes, he noticed the youngest girl, Tiffany seemed to be in pain too as she held her head as if it would explode, her words quivering and laced with agony, her pain seemingly almost equal or even greater than his own.

Tiffany said "S-she's not l-lying. I can... t-tell. We really do have d-d-demons in our heads. Can't you h-hear it? ...I-I'm so s-sorry. It just won't stop."

For a moment there, seeing that frail girl sitting on the floor, tears welling in her eyes, Jorn forgot about his pain, his suffering, his anguish, and he thought to move towards and reach out to her, his brows furrowed in concern and sympathy. Here is another poor soul, suffering from similar or worse consequences as he. And such a young, tender age too, with little or no one to share the burden of this pain with. Jorn suddenly felt ashamed of his actions. So much for being the eldest and supposedly most matured. Here are people, much younger than him, showing the strength of will and courage to calmly accept and face their predicaments head on, yet all he would do was to question and mock, dodging his problems without once considering that these people might have similar or worse situations. What a fool he was!
Certe, a faatus is what you are, if you would deny the veritas of those wiser than you. Listen, take heed and you might just learn something...

The voice shook Jorn from his revere and he immediately stopped in his tracks, his hand slightly outstretched. He quickly pulled it back and made a fist, staring at it vehemently. He'd seen what his touch could do to other people, despite the medical bandages that were wrapped around his hands. He'd certainly wouldn't want the same thing to happen to the poor girl in front of him, immortality or otherwise. In fact, the inability to die would just compound the effects of his touch...imagine being so ill that it would kill you, but yet be unable to die. That would be a horrible form of torture indeed. Grimacing as the thought of the implications of his horrible touch came to him, he glanced at Evelyn as she spoke, as she calmly stated that the only other explanation other than demonic possession would be a shared delusion, which frankly, even Jorn found to be even more far-fetched than the current explanation. However, he ignored her inquiries whether they're okay. It's was plainly obvious they were not, and he'd rather not state the obvious.

The other guy, Conrad seemed to be taking things in his stride as well, voicing out a way to test each individual demon's abilities. Jorn respected that quick-thinking of his and he slightly nodded before regarding Tiffany as she rose to her feet to speak. His musings was interrupted when he saw Katherine writing from the corner of his eye and looked at Evelyn with more than simple curiosity as she was challenged by Katherine to a simple game of heads and tails. However, her reaction to being challenged was definitely unusual and her vigor and enthusiasm during and after winning the game made him all the more curious. Jorn opened his mouth to ask a question but quickly closed it and passed it off as a cough instead as the hostess left the room to greet another person...'Death' supposedly, if there ever could be such person. Shouldn't Death be dead?
The carrier of diseases are more oft than not unaffected by the disease itself. It would be meaningless if the carrier were to die before disease would complete its purpose, no?

Jorn grumbled something intelligible as he flexed his fingers, his mood surly with the constant presence of the voice at the back of his head. And the nagging feeling that he'd missed something important did nothing to improve his temperament. Somehow, something seemed off. Something he wasn't noticing. Something recent and close.
Something like that finger you just broke?
Frowning, he flexed his fingers again. Startled, Jorn spoke whilst still staring at his right hand, "Hey, I'm not sure if you believe me, but I broke my right index finger just a while back and...well, it kinda healed up already."

Shadows of Two Worlds

No problem. Good things come to those who wait. And what a coincidence, english isn't my first language too.

Shadows of Two Worlds

Thanks for the answer. I did read about it but I wasn't exactly clear as to the nature of using magic to hide, so I kinda wanted to clear it up, is all. Looking forward to the IC

Shadows of Two Worlds

Question: Can a wyvern disguise itself as a normal citizen? Using flames to create an illusion (more of a heat-mirage-kinda thing, very high-level of control and mastery kinda stuff?) I've been itching for a reptile for quite a long time D:

And the darkness fell

I like where this is going. Reminds me slightly of Hellgate:London but permanently without lights. Count me in.

Demons within

Jorn had skirted around the edges of the room ever since he entered, trying to remain as inconspicuous and hidden as possible as he clung to the shadows cast by the pale light. It took a while for his eyes to grow accustomed to the dim room; despite the bright flare of light from the projector and the presence of several lights that dotted the walls of the large room, it was considerably darker than the pure whiteness of the outside. He scowled. It's difficult to avoid the prejudiced notion that all this was turning to be a great farce. A castle, ill lit rooms, macabre decorations and a lady handing out written single-line introductions? It'd be the perfect setting for a horror movie or a some sort of fanatical cultist meeting.

In fact, Jorn had kept his eyes peeled for any hidden cameras, even tapping the stone bricks of the walls with his knuckles to check its authenticity as he walked along. He would not come so far, abandoning everything he once was just to be caught in an elaborate prank or some sort of freaky reality show. His eyes glanced back at the small group that had assembled there. Three girls and another guy. One of the girls looked to be rather young to be out here by herself, betrayed by her shy demeanor and adolescent looks. The others...well, he guessed that none of them gathered here so far were older than him. Only the lady that welcomed them from the doorway, Katherine, seemed mature enough.

And for a moment there, Jorn felt a pang of fear that this could just be some deceptive mail sent around to gather young, naive, deluded fools for kidnapping or something far horrible. After all, such cases, although uncommon, were not unheard of. Instinctively, Jorn took a step back and reached for his bowie knife, the familiar contours of its hilt reassuring him as he gripped it tightly, his eyes darting back and forth for any signs of treachery and danger.
Repose yourself, foolish mortal. You are where you should be.
The voice did little to assuage his mounting anxiety but he turned his gaze towards the projector as the hostess started to write.

Katherine said I have done a lot of research and I believe I have some answers for you. We have somehow been chosen to be the recipients of demons. I'm not sure how or why yet. There are a total of 12 of us. By receiving a demon, we have become immortal.

Jorn stared dumbly at the words for a while until their meaning sunk in. His expression changed from indifference to astonishment to incredulity to anger before settling into a visage of rumination, his brow furrowed in a mask of deep thought and concentration. But inside, his mind raced. 'I knew this was some weird cultist worship! Demons?! This is not the medieval times where we burnt witches at stakes and hid from the dark for fear of some mythical beast and demons. This is the age of science, of technology! Not of flying carpets and lamp genies!' as Jorn thought to himself.
Aah, you can deny its veritas all you want but you know deep within, that which is or isn't...

He could hear the others talking, asking questions about it as if it was the most natural thing to do. His frown never left his face as he continued looking as Katherine answered their questions respectively but jolted to full awareness when he saw mention of his name. His name. How did she..? "Wait, wait, wait...hold on a second, Katherine. You'd actually expect me to believe that I have a...demon? Living inside of me?" asked Jorn skeptically.
You cannot doubt the veritas of the words spoken yet unsaid. Mea nomen est Morbi, otherwise known as Disease. A pleasure to finally be properly acquainted.

A shout escaped his lips unbidden. "Shut it!" Suddenly realizing his outburst, he waved his hands apologetically, "No, no, I didn't mean you, Katherine, sorry about that. Nevertheless, this is the age of science. I'm not so prone to flights of fancy and delusions as to so easily accept having a demon inside of me just to explain there recent incidences that happened to me. I mean, it could just be a genetic mutation, right? Something our level of science hasn't been able to figure out yet, right?" Yet even as he said it, he heard the hollowness and anxiety of his words, words meant for himself to try to waylay and avoid accepting the cold, hard reality presented to him. Turning to the others, Jorn more pleaded than asked, "Come on, you guys. Are you really serious about believing all this? Demons? Immortality? I mean, sure I healed up rather fast but I still bled like a stuck pig when I cut myself up. This all can't be true, right?" Jorn's voice quivered at the end of his sentence as he looked at each of them, hoping for someone to suddenly burst out in laughter and assure him it was all a joke.

Demons within

It'd be interesting for someone to try shaking hands with Jorn now that he has a rough idea of what's going on with him.

The Girl with Demon Hair

Thanks. I'm hoping I'll be able to manage to live up to the expectations, but I'm kinda nervous, eheheh. Everyone seems to be very eloquent in their posts and seeing as how I've yet to write anything for nearly two years now, I fear I greatly pale in comparison. Is the introduction post okay? Or do I need to further elaborate on his actions after entering the mansion? The timing for the commotion would be somewhere in the middle of the second dance, when the music is loud and most of the people's focus were elsewhere, which would explain why no one or very few people would hear the commotion outside. Please do let me know there are any inappropriate actions taken by my OC and I'd rectify it asap.

The Girl with Demon Hair

Flitting through the narrow back-alleyways with soundless, cautious steps, he took note to keep himself clocked in the shadows cast from the faint moonlight. Even from afar, Elrik Karne could tell that a great party was underway. The nocturnal breeze that caressed his face carried with it the discordant sounds of people talking mingled with an undertone of titillating music. Even through his shemagh he could smell the heady scents and perfumes of the rich and the sweet, savory aroma of food; the usual redolence that comes with a great party. It contrasted greatly from the stench of the alleyway and Elrik wrinkled his nose at a particularly offensive stink as he neared his destination. Stopping in the shadows of another structure just two buildings shy of the targeted mansion, he took out a short hollowed bamboo that resembled a flute. Careful that he won't cause a light reflection, he slotted in a polished shard of crystal into one of the holes and adjusted it as he peered through it.

His vision magnified by crystal, Elrik scoped out his targeted area, taking note of the usual armed guards placements and their patrol routes before turning his seasoned eye upon the invited guests, comparing a few of them before picking out a lone obese man with a weak-looking face, covered in great swaths of cloth with a thick, flowing embroidered robe that would not be out of place on the shoulders of royalty. Nodding to himself, he made a mental map of possible locations the obese guest would head to; the insides of the mansion already familiar to him as he had wandered in under the guise of a monk begging for alms a few days before the party. Next, he turned his attention to the rooftops and vantage points, picking out any abbreviations and oddities that caught his eye as well as observing the shadows for movement. He squinted at a particularly suspicious-looking stone figure, noting the lack of any other stone statues but not entirely discrediting the notion that it might just merely be a decoration.

Retreating further into the shadows, he looked at the moon. It was almost time. Elrik had taken great efforts in hiring a middleman to hire some local assassins and thieves as bait to lure out any security surprises that might be in store for him. The thieves had went in earlier in the evening and failed badly, their poor disguises all too easily discovered by the wary guardsmen and swiftly escorted away without raising a fuss. Elrik respected their efficiency. They handled the situation well enough that maybe none of the guests found out about the incident except for the mansion's owner. But they would glean no information from them, he made sure of that. Slow acting poisons had been slipped into their drinks earlier in the morning, the two would die of different causes at different times, both poisons nearly undetectable once fully absorbed into the body. As for the assassins...

Aah, there they are. Slightly late, but it mattered not, his speed could always make up for the lost time. Atch, the poor fools were heading towards the mansion without a whiff of concern for subtlety or caution, so openly did they run towards their target. Again, it mattered not, Their deaths would be prove to be the perfect distraction for his entry, and even if captured, well...there are no loose ends. Elrik had not taken the liberty of poisoning them as he did with the thieves, but he did eliminate their employer and carefully planted evidence that would suggest a rivalry gone bad. After all, Elrik Karne is nothing but meticulous.

He made his move once he saw the 'stone figure' turn and start towards the approaching duo, his mind racing as he adjusted the memorized guard patrols, positions and travel route for his entry, his strides bringing him quickly to the mansion's front door even as he clung to the shadows as a petulant kid would cling to his favourite toy. The music inside the mansion had stopped and there was the splattering sound of applause, but Elrik was not overly concerned; the music seldom stopped for long in parties such as this one. Pulling the hood of his cloak further down but removing his shemagh, he instantly assumed a very natural walking stance as he followed a fresh group of guests, slipping from one to another whist timing the gazes of the guardsmen positioned there, carefully ensuring that he was carefully hidden by their backs. By now, some of the guests noticed him and were giving him weird looks and it wasn't long before someone would raise an alarm. Yet, just like clockwork, the pieces moved according to plan. Just as one of the guards consulted his list to for a guest's name, he reached his target, the obese man with the royalty robe. The music started again, this time a raunchier, bawdy tune more commonly heard around campfires than in high societal parties. Just in time.

Unnoticed and unseen, Elrik swiftly striked, his attack a mere blur to any who were watching intently. The entry and exit of the cold, unforgiving metal was so neat that no blood was spilled and nigh undetectable with the voluminous folds of the lard on the man and even though the wound was very shallow, the poisoned blade did the trick. Almost immediately, the man shrieked and gasped, the poison working through his system. The guards came barreling their way though the screaming and shouting crowd to the source of commotion as the man collapsed onto the floor, frothing at the mouth, his eyes turned so far back that only the whites showed. It would seem the music and whatever performance they had going on inside managed to keep them from hearing the ruckus outside; no sounds of alarm and no screaming came from the inside. Elrik, who had blended into the crowd immediately after he struck, came forward and shouted at the guards as he moved to help the fat man up to his feet. "Quickly! He'd had a stroke, the poor man! Help me bring him inside!" The guards looked warily at him, exchanging doubtful glances among themselves. Elrik, the very image of an impatient and concerned man, shouted at them again. "Hurry you fools! Least he dies out here! Do you want to be responsible for his death? Hurry! I can't carry him myself!"

Perhaps it was the threat of being responsible for the fat person's death or perhaps it was from Elrik's shouting, a few of the guards complied and together with much huffing and puffing, managed to drag the dying man inside the mansion as the remaining guards attempted to placate the guests queuing outside. As if it was the most natural thing to do, Elrik coolly peeled off the group upon entering the mansion, but not without relieving the dying man of his similarly obese coin pouch before headed off to the servant quarters for a change of guise, carefully avoiding the shuttling servants as they did so him, his mind swirling in anticipation of the riches that he might loot from tonight's plunder.

The Girl with Demon Hair

Name: Elrik Karne

Age: 20

Country/City of Origin:
Azyrki: Azyrki is a small town built into a singular granite mountain close to the World Scar mountain chain. Constantly assailed by strong, freezing winds blowing off from the World Scar as well as noxious vapors emanating from the nearby Twilight Swamp, it is a harsh, unforgiving land, widely notorious as a dark and sinister place, much like those who inhabit the town in their wretched houses and squalid hovels. Its relatively close distance to the Twilight Swamp means sunlight barely passes though the thick smog that hangs over the town and that most sources of water are tainted by its toxic influence. Those who brave these contaminated waters do so at great agony and peril: death or worse, mutation. However, it also means that these tainted water sources, whilst home to many baleful creatures, are rich in precious minerals and ores found in its silt and mud.
Expansive subterranean labyrinths snake through the mountain, allowing a fair portion of the town's more powerful and richer denizens better access to cleaner water sources and relatively safer living quarters; its tunnel complex boasting a larger area than that of the town itself which is packed with numerous shops, taverns and residences. Business in Azyrki is said to be very cut-throat; espionage, sabotage and assassinations are considered common practices when doing business with Azyrkians.

Status (Master, Slave, Free Man): Free man (former slave, self-liberated)

Personality: Born and bred in the darkness of Azyrki, Elrik is a man who speaks not with words but with action. Emotionless, tactical, vicious and brutal, he is a formidable foe to contend against. Well versed in weaving lies and deceit, his only allegiance is to coin and himself and would not think twice about slitting a person's throat if it would benefit him even by a little.

Appearance: Standing at 5'8", Elrik's wiry frame is built for speed and dexterity. Square-jawed and with rough-hewn features made prominent by a short stubble, his inky hair hangs unkempt down to his shoulders. He looks emaciated and is horribly scarred, a gaping orifice where his left cheek should be, with dark eye circles from long periods of sleep deprivation that accentuate the whites of his dark piercing eyes as they stare from sunken cheeks. A patchwork of scars, new and old, criss-cross his entire body which he oft hides with a well used travelling cloak.

Reason for attending the party (This can be as detailed or as vague as you'd like, but I might need to know this): Elrik heard of a grand party being hosted which would be packed with fat merchants and nobles of bountiful riches just ripe for the picking. It was only right that he help relieve some of that heavy gold off their sore backs.

Anything Else (This can be anything that you feel we should know, but does not fit in any other category):
Ever since he could walk, Elrik bit, clawed, kicked, scratched, and struggled all the way through his miserable, sordid life. When he was 9, he caught the eye of a leading businessman when he stole a jug of water from the man's stash and managed struggle his way through two of his guards to escape back to his family. The businessman, Kfer Karne, tracked him down and promptly had Elrik's whole family killed before dragging Elrik back in chains and training him as a work-slave of sorts. Elrik was often sent to do Karne's dirty work as cheap, expendable fodder: stealing documents and items of great value, planting false information, assassinating rivals, etc. Many times he was sent with no hopes of returning alive, but returned alive he did, come success or failure despite numerous near-death experiences and each time he returned, his vengeance and hate only burned stronger. At the age of 18, Kfer summoned Elrik and promised him freedom if he would adopt his last name and swear never to attempt to take Kfer's life. The night Elrik was freed, he returned for Kfer and after dispatching his personal guards, let loose the other kid slaves on his prone, immobilized body. Since then, he has traveled around, searching for riches and bounty in hopes of filling the emptiness inside of him.