Leliana’s maskless face is struck with silent awe as the immortal queen walks into view. It was has if she was handcrafted by the gods themselves, and it was within her presence that she saw a mirror into the divine. Her heart beats reverence for the creators of the worlds, and her emotions flowed like waterfalls from her eyes across her pale cheeks. She regains only a little bit of composure when Winter spoke and she wiped her tears of from her eyes in a vain effort to save face as she is escorted inside the queen’s humble abode.
Leliana slowly sits on the chair facing the lord when Winter offers the necromancer coffee. “It would be an honor your grace.” Liliana says as she bows her head slightly and offers her open hands. She gingerly sipped the well brewed coffee, allowing others to engage in their conversations before she would decide to join them.
@Thinslayer Out of curiosity, what can you tell me about spellbooks? To me they seem like diaries documenting the thoughts, feelings and intents of their creators.
Birthdate: April 4th, 3156 (Looks younger due to life prolonging magic)
Height: 5’4
Weight: Lean
Eye Color: Dark Blue
Hair Color: Black
Skin Color: Pale White (Due to a combination of self-experimentation and necrotic magic)
Blurb:
“The material universe is ephemeral, fleeting and fragile like a butterfly. Kingdoms fall, mountains erode to dust and sand, oceans evaporate and are vectored to the heavens. Even the radiant stars themselves, their brilliant flames will flicker until they fade into the shadow. It is in that shadow that the wills of gods and men dance, and THAT is eternal!”
Liliana Rosenveldt, Plague Doctor of the Necropolis of Stone
The black wind howls, carrying with it pestilence and the promise of a slow, agonizing demise. A man lays bedridden in his home, his energy drained, his mind racked in the throes of fear and dread, for he has seen many dear family and friends succumb to the disease. As he lay there, wheezing breath from crushing lungs, his eyes dimming and his mind numb and delerius, he heard his front door creak open. The room started to fill with the smell of incense and the rhythmic sound of chanting, as a masked figure carrying a shovel on their back entered the room swinging a pot from a chain. The man was sure that the grim reaper herself had come for him, her elongated mask resembling the carrion that feasted on the dead, and he was sure that was the fate that awaited him.
The mysterious woman laid a mixing bowl on the nightstand by the ailing man, then proceeded to crush herbs into it with a pommel until they were not but powder, and poured them into a vial of blue liquid. After shaking the vial the liquid turned the green of grass, and the masked figure poured it down the man’s throat, allowing her to do so as he resigns to his fate. She then laid her hand upon his chest as the man felt a gentle warmth flowing into his chest. The black robed woman picked up her pot and left without saying a word. In a matter of moments the man could feel his energy returning and much of his pain floating away.
With what little strength he could muster he sprung onto his feet and sprinted towards the outside, eager to thank the one who saved his life. He would soon come to regret his decision to leave his house. “Wait! Please wait!” He cried as he scrambled for the door. “Don’t leave before I have the chance to thank you for saving my-“ the man’s eyes widened in shock and horror as he left his front door. A few dozen yards away from him at the entrance to the forest stood four shambling masses of putrid, rotting flesh, their vacant eye sockets staring deep into his soul. They moved with a disturbing uncanniness, as if in foul mimicry of life. The Plague doctor walked between them, the twisted humans hunching their backs in recognition of their master. The man fell backward, frozen in fear as he saw the woman who could save and end his life on a whim step leisurely into the forest. “W-what are you?” he whispered in hushed breath. The lady in black turned her head, solely to acknowledge his presence, then walked into the shadows of the night, her grim servants dragging closely behind.
Birthdate: April 4th, 3156 (Looks younger due to life prolonging magic)
Height: 5’4
Weight: Lean
Eye Color: Dark Blue
Hair Color: Black
Skin Color: Pale White (Due to a combination of self-experimentation and necrotic magic)
Blurb:
“The material universe is ephemeral, fleeting and fragile like a butterfly. Kingdoms fall, mountains erode to dust and sand, oceans evaporate and are vectored to the heavens. Even the radiant stars themselves, their brilliant flames will flicker until they fade into the shadow. It is in that shadow that the wills of gods and men dance, and THAT is eternal!”
Liliana Rosenveldt, Plague Doctor of the Necropolis of Stone
The black wind howls, carrying with it pestilence and the promise of a slow, agonizing demise. A man lays bedridden in his home, his energy drained, his mind racked in the throes of fear and dread, for he has seen many dear family and friends succumb to the disease. As he lay there, wheezing breath from crushing lungs, his eyes dimming and his mind numb and delerius, he heard his front door creak open. The room started to fill with the smell of incense and the rhythmic sound of chanting, as a masked figure carrying a shovel on their back entered the room swinging a pot from a chain. The man was sure that the grim reaper herself had come for him, her elongated mask resembling the carrion that feasted on the dead, and he was sure that was the fate that awaited him.
The mysterious woman laid a mixing bowl on the nightstand by the ailing man, then proceeded to crush herbs into it with a pommel until they were not but powder, and poured them into a vial of blue liquid. After shaking the vial the liquid turned the green of grass, and the masked figure poured it down the man’s throat, allowing her to do so as he resigns to his fate. She then laid her hand upon his chest as the man felt a gentle warmth flowing into his chest. The black robed woman picked up her pot and left without saying a word. In a matter of moments the man could feel his energy returning and much of his pain floating away.
With what little strength he could muster he sprung onto his feet and sprinted towards the outside, eager to thank the one who saved his life. He would soon come to regret his decision to leave his house. “Wait! Please wait!” He cried as he scrambled for the door. “Don’t leave before I have the chance to thank you for saving my-“ the man’s eyes widened in shock and horror as he left his front door. A few dozen yards away from him at the entrance to the forest stood four shambling masses of putrid, rotting flesh, their vacant eye sockets staring deep into his soul. They moved with a disturbing uncanniness, as if in foul mimicry of life. The Plague doctor walked between them, the twisted humans hunching their backs in recognition of their master. The man fell backward, frozen in fear as he saw the woman who could save and end his life on a whim step leisurely into the forest. “W-what are you?” he whispered in hushed breath. The lady in black turned her head, solely to acknowledge his presence, then walked into the shadows of the night, her grim servants dragging closely behind.
Randomness
Izurich
Damycles
Jamesyco
