Kassarock — Roleplayer Guild

K A S S A R O C K	29 \| M \| GMT
Greetings friends, partners, enemies, acquaintances, and strangers. I am Kassarock, or just Kass if you prefer, welcome to my profile. Anyway, I am a 20 something male roleplayer from the UK and a long time user of the site, although I have come and gone a fair bit over my time here. I used to be more active on the old site, and I still am relatively active in the off topic sections today, as well as in the guild's discord. So you might see me around. I generally consider myself to be an advanced writer, I pretty much always write multiple paragraphs, and will drop walls of text if the mood takes me. My grammar is okay, but not formally perfect, so I do not expect that from my partners either. I normally like quite dark and dramatic themes in terms of content in my roleplays, regardless of genre. Unless I have got an interest check up, or have messaged you, I am not usually looking for new partners to write with. I think that covers just about everything. Message me if you want to know more.	Original Join Date: 07/04/2009 Advanced, Casual, 1x1, Nation, Tabletop Historical, Fantasy, Sci-fi, Romance, Drama Writer, Archaeologist, Cymro ..............................................................................................................

Name: Baron Stephen de Monfort (Stephen the bloody)

Gender: Male

Age: 31

Appearance:
  
Stephen stands at around 5'9" and is of a fairly lithe build, though he has surprisingly large shoulder muscles and biceps which allow him to swing short hacking weapons with deadly speed. His hands are similarly strong and callused, showing a life of either hard work of handing weapons. His physical position is peak, unlike many other knights who ride on horseback Stephen is accustomed to fighting on foot for battles. 

The most noticeable feature is a line white scar that runs from the base of the temple to the bottom of the chin, unlike the rest of his face, no hair grows on it. Making the scar stand out against the dark blonde stubble, his hair is a similar colour, dark blonde streaked with brown yet stained darker either by sweat or blood. His eyes are typically northern European blue as is his fair complexion. There is nothing particularly unpleasant about his face, yet it is not instantly attractive, nondescript would be the best way to think of it. His garb in the desert is always the same, the armour and the white mantle with a red cross that all Templars wore.

Equipment/inventory:
-Steel Chainmail Hauberk with Coif (leather cuirass underneath)
-Leather Gauntlets
-Steel toe capped armoured boots
-Steel Greaves and Vambraces on legs and arms
-Small crucifix 
-Gold Reliquary containing a finger bone of Saint Jude.

Weapons: 
-A knight's long sword, a family heirloom forged in the 10th century.
-A shorter brutal sword, a Falchion with one cutting side and a machete like blade.
-A light single handed axe, with a cutting blade, an end spike, and an armour piercing pick.

Background: Stephen was born into nobility in the southern France province of Aquitaine. Here he was raised under the eye of a stern father and a mother who bowed to the will of her husband. Despite whatever vice's Stephen's father had, Robert was devout to the word of God. His hand may have been heavy and his temper quick, but when he heard an utterance of heresy from his own eldest son, he made sure the boy would never again doubt God. He beat Stephen within an inch of his life before sending him off to a monastery in Normandy for two years to learn respect for God. It was here that he met Raymond of Cyprus, a Knight Templar.

While at the monastery the knight had been visiting before he went out to the holy land. He had fascinated the boy with tales of the crusades and how God rewarded all who went upon it, this more simulation for Christianity than any monk could provide. When Raymond left and Stephen was returned to his father he set about becoming a knight worthy of the holy land. But in his abscense it was apparent is mother had died of the flu, grieved but not changed, he also decided to pray for her soul when in Jerusalem.

He trained hard and achieved this, his father died when he was 17 and he inherited what was his. Nothing could now stop him on his voyage to Jerusalem. It took two years to sail to Tyre and then across the desert to Jerusalem, when there he prayed and met a familiar face. Raymond was still in the holy land, older but still a Knight Templar of high standing. He joined the Templars shortly afterwards and served with them in the two years of peace between then and the start of Saladin's war on Palestine. When the truce broke again in 1186, he was in fact part of those who caused this, he raided a caravan with Raynald de Chatillion, which had Saladin's sister in it.

He had continued to fight with Raynald until the battle of Hattin, where he was moved back to Tyre in case the Muslim army headed north. After Hattin Saladin took Jerusalem and Arce, but Tyre still stood. This is what prompted the Third Crusade, to take back Jerusalem, and the holy war was back on again. He battled down with other Templars to Acre, they took the Muslim garrison but were themselves besieged. When the demands of King Richard I were not met, he was one of the executors of the 2,700 hostages. After this he still pushed south, hands stained with the blood of thousands of Muslims from over thirteen years of bloodshed. At Arsuf he killed hundreds more, and onto the city of Jaffa, even more dead. By this point peace talks had begun and a treaty was signed to prevent more killing on both sides. Jerusalem was lost and the Knights were ending the violent campaign for now.

He decided to return home for the first time, sick of death for once. On Cyprus he met with the son of Raymond who took him in for a short while. Here in their family chapel, did he see what his life had led him to.

The Inferno

Well this is a blast from the past. I think this was the last group roleplay I attempted to GM on the oldguild. True to form it collapsed after the first couple of weeks of posting. Never let anyone tell you that the oldguild was some kind of mythical place where roleplays never died and partners never ghosted you, they lie.

The Inferno itself was a bit of an edge fest 17 year old me cooked up after playing that hack and slash Dante's Inferno game a bit too much. I also saw the animated film, which I thought was dope. Looking back its absolute butchering of Dante's masterpiece, but I didn't care back then, I wanted to see cool demon fights. 

I suppose this is also the first roleplay I attempted to set in a historical period, and actually tried to research appropriate arms and armour for it, something I would go on to do more of in later roleplays. Check out the woefully inaccurate character sheet this produced, here. 

Going through the opening post I realised just how different BBcoding on the old forum was as well. We used to be able to set font size manually on there, not just with the heading tags, neat huh? I used a lot of resizing in the OP so I tried my best to replicate it using the current forum's system. 

The Inferno

Limbo.   Lust.   Gluttony.   Greed.   Wrath.   Heresy.   Violence.   Fraud.   Treachery.

The nine circles of hell, the nine torturous realms of the inferno those that sinned in life endure forever more after. Each one is filled with those who broke the commandments of God, the commandments set in stone by Moses from the voice of God directly. Each one brimming with sinners and the vile demons that torment them for what they have done. Each one suffering according to what they did in life, the harshest of justice served upon them by the Almighty.

--------------------

 The year is 1193, the Third Crusade to reclaim the Holy Land is coming to an end, partly due to the incompetence of the Christian armies sent, but also due to the might of Saladin who took Jerusalem earlier in the war. During the Holy War the sands of Palestine were soaked with blood from both sides, not all of it fought in the partial honour of battle. Slaughters took place on both sides, sin was everywhere in that time. Those who crusaded were absolved of their sins by priests; they could do no harm in the eyes of the Lord as long as they fought for him. Or so it was thought. 

 The Lord was not so forgiving, the crusade failed to retake the holy land and the sins that the knights committed were not forgotten. One of the final great conflicts, the siege of Acre, had resulted in the deaths of 2,700 Muslim men, women and children, all in the name of God. Wrath and violence was not all that was committed during the conflicts, lusty knights so far away from their wives would take Muslim girls to bed in the cold nights. The spoils of war were feasted upon in great gluttonous events, the lands gained were squabbled over by the victors in Greedy passions. And then of course, there were those who betrayed the trust of others. When King Richard I had those 2,700 thousand killed he betrayed Saladin who had been willing to pay the ransom.

So much evil committed, so many sins that were thought not to count, but some would realise what they have done. Some would see the how false the separation between their sins’ and a normal man sins’ were. For these there could be a chance of redemption, though the price to pay would be horrible…

Several warriors would have the chance to enter Hell, to enter the place where the damned suffer for all time and would have a chance to return from there. They would have to endure the inferno to redeem themselves in the eyes of God, it was either that, or to die trying.

The Circles

[LEFT]First, there comes Limbo, reserved for unbaptized babies and virtuous pagans. Who though they did not sin, neither did they accept Christ. They are not punished actively, separation for God and stuck in this imperfect imitation of paradise is torture enough for these souls. All souls must past through here before judgement is decided upon them by King Minos on his wheel of pain.[/LEFT]

[LEFT]Second, there is Lust, where the great lovers and lust filled souls reside. These let their apatite for flesh persuade them from reason and from the light of God. Blown by constant winds in a storm of lusty passion, they may never find rest amongst the turbulent seas. Demon harlots torture them in their lusty ways, giving them all that they desire, yet only just out reach or by forcing their own lust upon the souls, showing them the hideousness of their sins. [/LEFT]

[LEFT]Third, is Gluttony, guarded by the three headed beast Cerberus who devours all who attempt entry to this circle. Here those who indulged in wine, food and other pleasures of the flesh are punished. Filled with an uncontrollable hunger they feed from mountains of rotten flesh, repulsed by what they are doing, but unable to change. Those who sinned the greatest boil inside acid lakes, starving, slowing being dissolved like the food they consumed.[/LEFT]

[LEFT]The Fourth Circle is Greed, here those who valued material possessions and money above all else are shown how meaningless their pursuit of wealth was. They burn in lakes of molten gold and giant contraptions of precious metals crush their bones to dust. Huge piles of precious stones slowly suffocate them. This is the realm of Plutus, the Greek God of Wealth.[/LEFT]

[LEFT]Wrath is the Fifth Circle, those who were filled with anger all their life suffer here for all eternity. In the black swamp like mud of the Styx they fight for the surface, their anger to fight for survival as others drown in the filthy waters. On the other side lies the City of Dis, home to the angels that fell with Lucifer.[/LEFT]

[LEFT]Sixth, is the Tombs of Heresy, where the heretics against God burn in tombs for the lies they say. The Harrowing of Hell is still felt here and the tombs often collapse and cave in, still shaken by the death of Christ, over 1000 years ago. It is said that those who suffer here can see into the future, but may not know anything of the past nor the present.[/LEFT]

[LEFT]The Seventh Circle, Violence, is divided into three rings of suffering, those who did violence unto people and property, those who did violence unto themselves, and those who did violence against God. Entrance to this circle is guarded by the Minotaur, whose violent power prevents many from entering. 
-The first ring is of a boiling river of blood where the great blood shedders writhe in agony. 
-The second ring is a silent awful wood where those who killed themselves are turned into trees as their sadness roots them into hell. 
-The final ring is for destroyers of nature and those who killed unjustly in the name of God. The desert sands swirls around them, burning the skin and furthering the violence.[/LEFT]

[LEFT]The second to last circle, Circle Eight, is reserved for Fraudsters who suffer accordingly to how they deceived. It is divided into ten ditches of sinners.
-Pimps, who march eternally as they lead those by their passions.
-Flatterers, who stand in excrement to represent the words they said.
-Simoners, who gained from serving god, they burn in fonts of fire.
-Sorcerers and False Prophets, who have their heads twisted backwards, so they may never predict the future.
-Corrupt officials, guarded by clawed demons.
-Hypocrites, wear lead cloaks to show the falsity behind their opinions.
-Thieves, who are constantly bitten by terrible snakes and lizards.
-Those who gave council to commit fraud, they burn in individual flames.
-Those who were frauds against God, here they are hacked apart like the schisms they cause.
-Falsifiers and alchemists, these souls are infected with thousands of diseases and plagues.[/LEFT]

[LEFT]The final Circle, The Ninth Circle of Hell, is Treachery. Here there are four circles of freezing horror, where traitors endure eternal icy pain and death, only to never die of the cold. It is ringed by three frozen giants, Nimrod, Ephialtes, and Antaeus.
-The first circle is Caïna, named after Cain who killed his brother. The traitors here are to their own kin.
-The second circle is Antenora, named after Antenor of Troy who betrayed his city to the Greeks. This is the residence of Political Traitors.
-The third circle is Ptolomaea, named after Plotomy who betrayed the guests of his father, a king. Here those who betrayed their guests are punished.
-The final and deepest circle of hell is Judecca, named after Judas Iscariot, the betrayer of Christ. Here traitors to their lords and benefactors receive punishment. In this deepest level at the centre of hell sits Lucifer himself, for his own sins, betraying his master God for his lust for power. [/LEFT]

 Overview

All the characters in this RP should be former crusaders from the Third Crusade (so we’re talking Middle Ages technology and weaponry).  They all have pasts in which they have committed atrocities and terrible sins during the crusade that they thought were absolved of because of their partaking in battle. However, now realising after the crusades that they are bound for damnation because of their sins, they were given a choice in a dream to either choose to repent in this life in feeble hope, or to search for a means of redemption in hell that can prove their love of God and purity of heart. They will do this by journeying through hell and slowly coming to terms with the sins they have committed, whilst doing battle with the forces of Lucifer and all things unholy.

 The first post you do of your characters should be the Gates of Hell appearing before them. Be creative in how you do so, they could come to you in a dream, whilst praying for forgiveness, or perhaps a near death experience? Anyway you can think of is acceptable, the only features that must remain the same is the gateway inscription ‘Abandon all hope, ye who enter here’ and that the gate will have some sort of guardian. The guardian will be different for every one of you, after you defeat it can you gain access to hell, then next to the River Acheron and on the ferry of Charon.
Character Sheet

Name: 

Gender: 

Age: 

Appearance: (Remember, Medieval)

Equipment/inventory: (A holy relic would be a good idea)

Weapons: (Keep it realistic)

Background: (Include your sins)

Extra:

Rules

-Be sensible, common sense applies in this Roleplay, along with standard rules.
-Post fairly regularly with about 3 or more good sized paragraphs
-My word as GM is final
-Dedicated Roleplayers only please
-Please discuss any major plot elements you consider implementing with me before doing so (minor ones do not apply)
-Enjoy yourself.

The Inferno

Limbo.   Lust.   Gluttony.   Greed.   Wrath.   Heresy.   Violence.   Fraud.   Treachery. 

----------------------------

The sun was setting on the rolling hills of Cyprus, the rocky, shrub covered slopes gently kissed with the fading light. Hue’s of gold, lilac and red danced in the westerly clouds giving almost a window into God’s own kingdom. The surf against the shore could be faintly heard from the cliffs that looked out over the brazen seas as they reflected the light back up at the sky. Nestled a few hundred yards back from the rocks was a quaint villa, set against the hills and the sky, surrounded by some fertile and tilled land. Pass this warm home of a knight, the former home of the crusader Raymond of Cyprus, was a small path that wound up into the hills a way. At the end of the well trodden track was a tiny ancient building of worn stone and petrified wood. The private chapel of the villa by the sea, though it had stood longer than any villa. 

Between the woodworm eaten doors and the tiny stained glass window set across from them was a small space little more than a shrine than a noble’s chapel. A small wooden altar with a silver crucifix sitting upon it and benches for less than ten people was all that adorned the room. Apart from that only the ancient beams and the rough stone, its mortar had long since been crumbled away by time and the Mediterranean heat. In this Spartan room knelt a man before the altar, his hands clasped in prayer, a crucifix around his neck. He was dressed as the man who used to own this estate did once, still bearing the chainmail and the mantle of a Knight of the Templar. The outfit of a warrior of God. But this man was doing no fighting now, he was praying, for he knew that he was not a warrior. No a warrior was too noble a name for this man’s profession. 

He looked tired, beneath his blonde hair his eyes were surrounded by deep dark rings that were the signs of sleep deprivation. Though this man was not praying for rest. In his rest was the source of what he was praying for. Every time he closed his eyes and drifted off into sleep he was visited by visions of everything that he had done in his life that he regretted. Every ‘borrowed’ penny, sinful glance, and brash moment. Every damned lie, fist raised, and back stabbed. No relief would come of it, not a single moment of sleep could he draw without this grim tale being played before his horrified eyes. But there was something worst in his dreams than his life so far. A vision of the future, a dark plane of flames covered with agonised souls screaming in silence, while down below the fires in an icy cavern a smile in the darkness that made his spine shiver and would wake him drenched in sweat.

But as he went to wake a voice would call out from the terror of the dream, telling him:

“Repent. Or this will be not only your present, but it shall be the future of your existence too.”

 Each time the voice would echo out to him, sounding so real and familiar, yet like across a distance of lifetimes and continents. And it was disconcerting to have such voices speaking in your dreams. And so here he was, at last taking the advice of the phantom voice, and trying to repent for all his worth at this altar. He was staying with the son of a former friend and a brother of arms, Raymond of Cyprus who fell in the battle of Hattin at the hands of Saladin. Raymond had never even seen the crusade that followed his death, a war which he had been so much part of. The praying had been for the both of them, for each of their souls. So that Raymond could make his passage to heaven swiftly and so that he could save himself from what the dreamed warned him of.

“Our Father who art in heaven,
Hallowed be thy name.
Thy kingdom come.
Thy will be done
On earth as it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread,
And forgive us our trespasses,
As we forgive those who trespass against us,
And lead us not into temptation,
But deliver us from evil."

Under his breath the crusader whispered the prayer of the Lord, eyes dropping slightly from the effort of being awake for so long. He couldn’t remember when he had slept properly last. Finally the temptation of sleep grew too strong, and there his head nodded in front of God’s altar in one of the oldest churches on the island. And there he dreamed…

“Awake, Stephen, son of Robert. Awake, Stephen de Monfort. Awake, Stephen the Bloody.” A voice called out to him, using all three of his names, each one arousing emotion and feeling within him.

“Who speaks!” He demanded in a clear voice in the dark.

“He who has past before you.” The voice answered. “You were told to repent and you have proven that you value the immortal soul. But your sins are not light, it will take more to relieve your burden.” I had an almost mocking ring to it as it finished, telling him the solid hours of praying he had done were all for nothing.

“Then tell me what I must do, spectre.” He answered boldly, not letting his inner doubts show.

“You must travel downward, though nine circles of evil, and there you will find your redemption in the darkest of pit. Be you willing to journey to that which is furthest from the light of God?”

“I will not damn my soul to Hell! Even if I face it now! I know no fear!” He shouted back, his anger and defiance building inside of him as his eyes searched the darkness.

“Very well then. Awake.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Stephen’s eyes snapped open, and he stood in rapid motion. The chapel was gone; he stood in a burnt ruin of a building, surround by an oppressive plain of scorched earth. The hills of Cyprus were rubble and slag under a black sky of poison clouds, surrounded by a sea of boiling sulphurous acid. Where was this place? He ran out of the tumble of blackened stones and onto the ash covered scree and dirt outside. The hideous red light filtering through the smog above lit the ground with an effect that made it look like a massacre had taken place the night before. It stained the ground crimson like the blood of the many that Stephen had shed in the past. 

“Dear God, this place must be hell.” But it was not, only the entrance to it. He began to walk, glad that he still wore his mail and had his swords with him. Even more glad that he had his cross on and had a holy relic with him. The finger of St. Jude, it had been given to him by an old Commander before the war with Saladin. Raynald de Chatillion had obtained it from a small monastery in Crete, and Stephen had carried it back from the holy land at all times since the dreams had begun. He walked slowly up the slopes, casting his eyes all around him for any sign of well… anything really. The wasteland was barren, nothing grew and nothing lived here. Only ruins and dust existed in this foul place.

He walked for some time, until in the distance there glinted the shine of something not dead or so dusty. As Stephen walked towards in over the broken and wounded land did it become apparent as to what it was. A giant metal disk of sorts set into the top of a hill, but not really circular, it had nine sides and was made of a dark grey metal folded into interlocking triangles. It was strange even for a place like this; the enormity of it was bizarre. It was not completely flat, at its centre there seemed to be a column or pillar that stood erect. In some ways it reminded him of the strange ruins and pillars of the old religions that littered the countryside in some places. Great worn standing stones that stood the test of time where heathens did not. Only this circle was infinitely more sinister in this world of the dead.

 Slowly he approached, convinced it had some significance to his journey. He came to realise it was not a pillar at the centre, but a man. An impossibly tall, armoured figure of the same metal as of the disk stood there, silent and unmoving. It looked like some kind of statue, a statue of some kind of knight that was more demonic and horrific than any Saracen or Muslim he had seen in his life. They were the worshipers of false gods, this thing was the result of the true enemy of God. It must surely be one of warped creations of Lucifer who is bound in ice, there is nothing else something so twisted could be a product of.

He had reached the edge of the strange thing, and raised a foot to step upon it. As soon as the sole of his boot had been set down onto the metal the figure turned to Stephen. Red fire glinted from beneath its visor, making the metal glow like a furnace. He was unarmed, though his armour was a weapon itself, every joint spiked and bladed like some kind of human mace. It faced the knight and whispered in a deadly quiet voice:

“I am the gatekeeper. None may pass me.”

Stephen stared at the gatekeeper, partly in fear and partly in awe of the armoured figure. The armour was like nothing he had ever seen before, it had none of the bulkiness and hard edges as normal armour did. The figure was over three meters tall, seemed to be covered from head to toe in almost fluid metal, there were no conventional joins of any kind. It was if its very skin was the strange unearthly steel that the great plate was composed of. Despite his wonder though, he could see how it was such a deadly thing. The only gap in the dark steel was the thin gap that the ominous red glow emerged from, what he assumed was the gatekeeper’s eyes. And the blades, oh the blades, they were on every joint and corner. The fingers were just jointed knives each one inches in length and more than long enough to piece the heart of a man. Spikes on the elbows sharp enough to pierce armour and knee blades that could gut one like a fish. 

It was an awful wondrous terror that consumed his heart as he stared at the formidable foe. Never before had he been beaten in battle since he had come to the holy land, he knew he was not the greatest fighter of all time, but he knew that he was more than the average. Proof enough was how he had constantly survived in his life, in every battle, where he had killed thousands maybe, he had made it through without loosing life or limb. It was either that or he had the luck of the devil, perhaps he could ask him if he made it that far. 

“I guess I must defeat you to proceed?” He asked, almost unsure in himself. Surely his first challenge could not be the greatest he had faced so far in all his life? To waste his blood here would be idiotic.

“None will pass.” The gatekeeper replied in the disturbing voice once again, the eyes of fire almost flaring in the steel casing. “Unless I am fallen.”

“So be it.” Stephen said, and hurled himself at the tower of steel thorns, drawing his long sword as he went. It was a fast sprint, and it would force the guardian to be quick in defending himself, hopefully testing his combat skills and reactions. He sword swung down in a high slash at the creature’s left flank, the guardian had not reacted. The blade swung, and it was blocked. The guardian had moved so fast, Stephen hadn’t even seen the forearm swing up and block his weapon. As the two steels met, fire flashed up around the outside of the metal disk. Making escape impossible. Yet within the flames, words of a darker fire could be seen, spelling out in Latin: “Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.” The message at the gates of hell, of course it would be one of despair, that is what the demons of hell fed upon.

The parry had thrown him back, so he came again stronger, slashing wildly from side to side, going first high at the upper chest and then gutting shots down at the stomach. Yet because of the height it would have been impossible to reach any higher. Cleaving off the head was not an option in his fight. But by God, the thing did its job without effort, blocking the blows with ease. He drove his sword at the thing’s hand, hoping to maim its efforts in blocking before it went on a counter attack. It caught his blade. How! How could it do that! There was enough force behind that to drive it through a knight and his horse. Yet this creature could simply grab it like a child’s stick! A cold sweat began to run down his back. 

The gatekeeper twisted the sword slightly, and with a turn of his wrist ripped the hilt from Stephen’s hands. It had done so effortlessly once again, somehow the creature was nigh invincible in both speed and strength. This was fight only a true master could win, no, not even the classical hero’s of old would have the knowledge and skill to battle this terrible being. He staggered back as the armoured knight of death threw away his blade to the edge of the disk. Stephen drew his Falchion and axe, though now the gatekeeper was moving, death drew near to Stephen as his eyes nervously followed the great being as it glided around the outer reaches of the arena, just out of his lunging range. 

“Come! Bring me death already!” He cried, not wishing to be forced to wait longer for his honourable end. He just must have been one to impure to battle with a demon of hell and win. It seemed plausible, his hands were covered with more blood than it was necessary for him to have split. At least he could meet his death with some kind of dignity. It flew at him like a wind of blades and violence. Blocking was all he could do as steel flew from side to side. Sometimes deflected and showering sparks and sometimes connecting and drawing blood before pulling away. It would not kill him quickly, small painful wounds littered his body, stinging but not life threatening. It wanted him to suffer as it killed him, it wanted him hopeless and broken by the end of this fight. Then it would finish him like some animal to be slaughtered, all pride lost to the menace that was going to destroy him in a shower of blood an- No! He would not loose himself to despair! His mind screamed as he continued in vain to hold the killing machine back.

	As he did so he felt something, he blocked all of the thing’s blows. None came through as he stated his defiance. And wait, hadn’t it started to attack when he said he wished for death and didn’t want to fight eternally. Did this demon feed upon his hopeless thoughts? It was his only chance. I can beat you! He thought and… Clang. His sword met one of jointed finger knives and held it, its unrelenting strength lessened. 

“I will destroy you demon! You have no power over me!”  He screamed as he swung his axe in a powerful arc, and lo and behold! The blade hit and dented the fiend’s incredible armour. It was true! His hopelessness was gone and with it the might of the creature was failing. He swung again, it went to block but it was too slow, and his sword pierced its gut. Fire and steam races out and the thing faltered. It could be killed. There was triumph in his eyes.  He hacked again and again, splitting it with mighty blows until it crumpled to its knees, mortally wounded. One last time Stephen raised his Falchion and struck the deathblow, right into the eye slit of the warrior’s helmet. 

It was done. And with the final blow and great groaning could be heard, the metal beneath him was moving, the steel sliding and folding in some elaborate pattern. The nine triangles began to part and  fold, revealing a great dark hole beneath them, lit with dark fires below, echoing the groans and screams of agony from far below. He had retreated to the edge of the plate, retrieving his long sword. This was it now, this was the entrance to hell itself. After this there would be no turning back, but who was he kidding, there was no way he could turn his back on the only way that he could cleanse his soul. This was the only route he could take.

“To the abyss, I shall go.” He stated simply, and dived in.

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