RyuShura

Scattered Shades: Arcadia Chronicles

WAIT I'M STILL WRITING A REPLY

Ah... nevermind I have to deal with the baby...

Scattered Shades: Arcadia Chronicles

What kind of logo would they have? Is there like a special animal or item that would represent the CMAS narratively?

Scattered Shades: Arcadia Chronicles

I'm here!~ Just doing some sketching while I wait for more people to respond.

Scattered Shades: Arcadia Chronicles

Somewhere in Hyznia...

Pincy was in quite the bind. Most literally. His head was still fuzzy from the large rock that struck him in the head earlier, but he was able to decipher bits and pieces from the outlines forming in darkness of his mind. The lanky flayed-cloak mage sat in a carriage with a pair of nasty arcane-locks fastened tightly around his poor bony wrists. Unfortunately, not many places made things accounting for people of his unusual size, and Hyznia was no exception to tired traditions. The looming figure sat hunched almost all the way over to avoid breaking his neck against the top if the wheels ever hit a bump in the road. There were two others with him. He craning his neck so that he was able to look forward as he spoke out to one of the outlines behind the cloth covered frame in the front, the pale eyes within the faceless mask shining in the moonlight.

"Dearest, strangers, whom I presume are CMAS representatives..." finishing the statement with a light but strangely unsettling laugh, "I swear to you, I only happened... across the demonic ritual while out hunting Azure Fireflies for my morning herbal tea! See, the slimy residue of their grounded bodies helps with my headaches and helps moisturize my awfully wrinkled skin..." pausing suddenly, "Anyway, The cultists were all already dead when I got there. What you witnessed, me moving around the sacrificial offerings and fixing the magic circle..." laughing as he realized the words that came out of his mouth, "Well, those amateurs were doing it all completely wrong, I tell you! Where would my pride as a researcher of the supernatural, and as a respectable warlo... I mean, mage for that matter, if I didn't correct false information?" shaking his head, "Improper spell technique can lead to fatal injury, even death, as you clearly saw for yourselves. If they followed the appropriate procedure for summoning demonic entities, perhaps the damned thing wouldn't have turned upon them.. Those blokes didn't even draw the right amount of points for their pentagram, for gods sake! If anything, you should be after that foul monster instead of apprehending a simple, totally ordinary mage like me..."

The larger figure shifted, turning back with a growl to the masked-man, "Quiet, freak. I've enough of your prattling. Another word and I'll have you join those fanatics in hell."

A female voice quickly interjected, nudging the large shape with some sort of limb, he couldn't really tell, "Calm down will you? We're not here to hurt him. You've done enough of that already." speaking louder as though directing to Pincy now, "Listen, you're not under arrest. We of the CMAS are very aware of your... special talents, mister 'Pierrot', and are actually here to offer you a proposal."

The mask suddenly tilted to one side, "Pardon?"

...

A Hero Tale: Mikhael

The young knight made a sour face at the vanished evidence, but that was not the only thing bothering him. When the urgency of battle drained from his system, an aching suddenly gripped his missing arm. The wound seemed to be burning, a sharp pain as though it was being prodded with a burning hot iron. He was forced to cant his face downwards to hide the pained expression from Ezekiel, but luckily enough, the feeling gave him mercy and subsided. As the pain cleared away, a piece of the weight ever-present in his chest so very slightly lessened along with it. He felt better than he did in a what seemed like a very long while. Perhaps since he had been kindled. Was this a sign that he was overcoming the control of the presence, of his very strange brand of demonization? He felt like jumping in joy at the prospect of a life free from the fear of the wretchedness he bred and housed. But this uplifting feeling washed away as soon as his sense of logic floated back after the tide of optimism quickly drained away.

It can't possibly be that easy.

He quickly joined beside the knight and propped himself underneath Lucas' arm again, giving both of them a look. "Wonder how long he'll be out for... we can't keep lugging him around all night. At this rate, we won't have an strength left to deal with our culprit." he breathed, suddenly getting serious, "...Say, you are one of the finest mage-knights in our order, brother Ezekiel. I'm sure Maya has taught you a great many things. May I ask you something about demonization...?"

As he said this, the dark red eyes glanced over as though in doubt, then turned away, "Ah, forget about it. Let us find Henry first and make it all out alive. Then we can sit and talk."

...

Scattered Shades: Arcadia Chronicles

Hider

_{- - - - (Personal Details)}
First Name: Pincy, the Pierrot
Age: Unknown
Sex: Male
Home Nation: Hyznia

Appearance:
(I drew a quick sketch! I hope it doesn’t look too rushed… I dunno if I’ll finish it.)

Picture

In all aspects of the word, Pincy is an oddity, from each of his peckish mannerisms, to most especially the way he looks. The faceless man is all things one would expect from a Warlock from the age-stilled Hyznia, perhaps even then some. Standing at a staggering 6’8 ft, approximately 207 centimeters according to other metrics, though this is less than impressive since his girth is practically skeletal. Donned almost entirely in a dress-like black cloak adorned with feathers and strange etchings and an expressionless pale mask, the only telling signs of his humanity are the exposed arms. But even this is questionable. His skin is sickly ashen and layered by blackened tattoos of symbols that band around the lanky limbs, which to the eyes of an ordinary mage, serve an unknown purpose. His eyes mark an eerie mystery about the man, faintly purple glowing orbs within the sockets of the mask, pupil-less, and if not for his occasional blink, there would be no sign of even living.

Personality:
Despite his unsettling appearance, Pincy is quite the social and outgoing personality. He can be described as passionate, if not completely carefree, the first to crack a snide joke when a chance presented itself, even in places of danger, often following along with a laugh imbibed with incredible gusto. Perhaps it is for this reason he has earned himself the title of ‘Pierrot’. As a self-proclaimed scholar, Pincy has an unquenchable love for the unknown and mysterious, and the more taboo or widely feared, the more compelled he is to delve deeper to uncover the truth for ‘his own eyes’. He also harbors a fascination that borders obsession when it comes to dreams and nightmares, believing they are a plane of hidden potential in sentient beings.

History:

Hider

All humans were once bathed in blood. This was the very first truth he would learn in life, before he was even able to speak or understand all the little things. His birth was laced with screams and crying, but not that of his own. When the ashen baby emerged, it marked the end of the horrific ritual conducted by a coven of deranged warlocks, which had been to create a life that would be able to see through the fabrics of something they dubbed ‘The Waking Dream’ and commune with otherworldly forces. Ripped from the cold dead hands of his sacrificial mother, a young teenage girl adorned atop a mound of grisly carved corpses molded together into that liken of a hellish womb. The baby was, as the cult had worked so hard for, gifted with pale eyes that peered not at what lay before them, but as though far beyond.

In simpler terms, the boy as made blind to allow him a greater sense of arcana. But this gift was did not come with it’s own flaws. He was plagued with horrific nightmares and gripped with vivid audible hallucinations that twisted reality into an awful state that he could barely decipher what was in fact real and what was the figment of his traumatized mind. Not to mention the insufferable aching in his head. He would go into episodes of violent rage or extreme emotion, the warlocks locking him alone in a dark cell for whole days, even weeks, until he stopped crying and thrashing about, dragging him out only to resume using him as a medium for their studies into the forbidden and vast unknown planes.

Only the occasional dream of a pale moonlit ocean soothed him from the painful headaches and relentless visions, giving him a briefly conjured haven from all the madness. In this place, he was able to meet with his deceased mother whom waited underneath the reflection in the still expanse of water. Welcoming the weary boy into her arms, she would whisper lovely words into his ears to quiet the pain.

But it was only a dream.

He would awaken to just another session where they tortured him with magic in order to slip into a painful subconscious state of dreaming where he can relay what he saw and what he heard to them. The boy was nothing but a tool for their enlightenment, but they were not the only ones learning from his sessions with the otherworldly beings. He was gaining control of the terrible power through just the exposure and a cunning plan hatched when he witnessed a pheasant devour a wolf in one of his nightmares. One day, during one of their bloody rites, he tricked them with false knowledge and caused them to be dragged screaming away by creatures even he did not properly understand.

He burned all that remained of the coven and their rituals, even the other captive slaves, making sure none of the terrible memories survived. He then adopted a new identity, assuming the name of Pincy, the name of the mother he never knew.

Occupation: Diver

_{- - - - (Power Matrix)}
Primary Focus: Arcane

Magical Capabilities:

-Touch of the Cosmos; An avid lucid dreamer and astral projector, Pincy has traveled to the depths of consciousness and tapped into a place of higher knowledge by listening to the voices of mysterious beings located in the outer planes. He believes that dreams are a place where echoes of consciousness comes and goes, where thoughts and ideas are imprinted like mental signal. Normal minds mistake this for garbled nonsense due to their inability to comprehend it, but he has spend many more years than he is actually alive, as time is never constant during dream state, tirelessly translating bits and pieces into a ‘language’ for him to use. As such, the young mage is an expert on crafting runes and harnessing his power into these mysterious symbols. They act like single-use conduits that allow him to manipulating arcana in ways he is otherwise unable to do himself do to his waning physical health. For basic spells, he will need to draw only a small string of them, but for more advanced spells, he can connect the runes into a complicated diagram for a more powerful effect. This requires much more preparation and time, of course, ranging from hours to sometimes even days to finish.
--As of this point in his research into the forbidden and unknown, he has a solid grasp regarding most of the unconventional forms of magic, namely those of witchcraft and spiritualism, from conjuring illusions, to invoking curses, and even ritualistic summoning (just in case). Most of his methods involve indirectly hurting his adversaries, but when the need comes, he can channel a bit of eldritch lighting to zap those who don't respect boundaries.

-Eyes of the Sleepless Dreamer; Having been born heinously stripped of vision, he developed an uncanny ability to sense things around him by the amount of arcana they exhibit. Not nearly as far as normal eyesight, he is able to sense things all around him. While this may sound powerful, it is many times more sensitive than normal eyes. If one has ever spun around too quickly or watched a screen full of blurry movement up close, the result is often a nasty migraine. This is similar, but much worse, a complete overload of senses. Too much movement detected at once will disorientate him and cause his mind to be wracked in pain.

Weapons and Equipment:
‘Solace’; his only weapon and tool, enchanted by countless runes learned from greater beings discovered in his dreams. The weapon serves as both a staff and rather hardy lance. Able to be conjured from the tattoos on his arms, a summoning diagram that reacts only to his own blood, the black lance is a conduit to control his sporadic arcana, otherwise defiant to his command, concentrating the essence to carve unnatural runes onto any surface to be enchanted by his unique arcana. It can be returned with a simple command.

Specialties:
-Has an extensive knowledge regarding forbidden lore for his young age, and is jaded to most horrors that might terrify even the most mentally stable people.
-No one has ever seen him eat, but he can be found sleeping quite often.

Scattered Shades: Arcadia Chronicles

Boop! I was interested in the old version and am glad it is back and running again. I might make a character for this run. But I'll see about my schedule. D:

A Hero Tale: Mikhael

He held the make-shift torch as long as possible, feeling the golden flames singe the flesh of his head, dropping the burnt remains when he can no longer bear the pain any longer. A desperation overcame him as soon as the flames no longer protected them, the buggers taking advantage and immediately charging around the scattered kindles. He tried frantically kicking back a few, but there was simply too many to completely hold back, one managing to slip through his flurry, grabbing hold and starting to rattle up the metal plates. He pulled at the creature with a disgusted snarl, yanking its trashing winding body of legs and casting it into the darkness, stomping down on another that crept from behind. But they kept coming. The unsettling feeling of countless little legs latching onto him made it clear to anyone watching that this was now or never.

His prayers were answered upon feeling a chill build up behind him. At the command from Ezekiel, he quickly twisting his body to fling off the clinging millipedes and bent his legs low. With a heavy clang of metal, he leapt into the air as high as his body could possibly propel him. He watched below as a wave of frosted air swept underneath him at all the surrounding shifting forms, stopping the tide of insects right in their place, landing with a low crunch back on the frozen ground.

He noticed a shard of ice pierce into a dark shape in the distance, turning to Ezekiel while yanking the thin dagger from his boot and approaching the sickly plant.
"What do you propose this is?" looking at the fleshy substance, "Is that... an eyeball?"

A Hero Tale: Mikhael

He felt an uncomfortable jerk rush up his spine when he saw the wormy shapes pour from the woodlands, his face forming a look of disgust at the revealed enemy. He shouted and immediately started at the critters with everything he's got, taking a few steps forward and lunged his weapon into the mass of carapace. The steele point punctured and severed a number of the swarm, the segmented bodies writhing wildly in their dying breaths before being shoved aside by the others pushing up from behind. But he couldn't catch them all, a few sneaking up and latched onto his boots. The knight hopped back and forth to kick them off while retreating at the same time, falling behind to what little ground they had. He was too busy with dealing with them that he only noticed Ezekiel's magic when he felt a chill in the air and the wave before him turning into icicles as a pale gust swept through the forest.

"Whoa..." he muttered, glancing over in awe. But it was not over yet. The magical torrent had stopped many of the insects, but there were still more climbing over their fallen comrades yet. And the elder knight looked like he needed time to cast his spell again.

He scowled at their dire predicament, knowing his own arcana was too dangerous and unpredictable to be unleashed like how Ezekiel had done so just now. Even though his decision was firmly planted in his mind, the presence inside beginning to rise from within his chest and flowing into his head like a ghost stuck inside a cage. But he did not allow it passage, forcing it to the back of his thoughts, the presence reacting with a violent shutter. It pushed at the wedged thought by weighing on his doubt and fears, as though eating at the emotions and growing suddenly.

An unfamiliar voice then whispered at him, similar to his own, but sinister and harrowed through and through.

Use our power... you have little choice... do you not? I suppose... since you like running like a coward so much, why not use the large one as a distraction...? It will take some time for them to chew through so much meat...

Mikhael suddenly cast a strange look at Lucas, eyes glaring hard at the stilled body, but quickly shook his head.
"No, I cannot..." he muttered, looking down with a disgruntled expression.

They really did have no choice. If he didn't do anything, they would be overrun. Without the use of his other arm, he was nowhere near effective in melee as he used to be. With those thoughts, his resistance to the dark feelings faltered as he allowed the presence to flow completely through him, a satisfied sigh passing through his ears as it moved down into his hands. With a short gasp, a golden flame shot from his palm all the way up the shaft. It was surprisingly easy to manifest despite him having only used arcana a handful of times. He didn't feel this dark force trying to take ahold of him either. Did he actually overpower it? Or was this all part of it's little game? He didn't have time to think about it now however, as the rod wouldn't last long, seeing as how the wood was already being eaten away by the brilliant fire, quickly waving it before him to form a flame-like barrier.

"I'll buy us some time!" he shouted, stepping forward and pushing the horde back, "Hope you got another shot left in you...!"

...

A Hero Tale: Mikhael

Uhuh, LIKELY STORY.