Vilhelm

Godhood - A Tale of Deities

*Blinks* .... Tha's a lotta CS's to read. I WAS ONLY GONE HALF A DAY. ;~; *Catches up*

Godhood - A Tale of Deities

*Pokes Dud* Danives and Dust might get along.

Godhood - A Tale of Deities

There we are. Edited it up.

Godhood - A Tale of Deities

*Nod* Right. Didn't use connections because, well, nobody else has made a CS. XD But I'll get to work on fleshing him out some more. Give some detail on his followers perhaps. And his actual capabilities. XD I'm sure once there are more people we can all flesh out a plot.

Godhood - A Tale of Deities

Wait, so, yay or nay on the character? XD I get the general feel you were after correct?

Godhood - A Tale of Deities

*Raises hand* I'm in. If this character works, at least. I've nothing to go off of on what you want in characters, so. XD Tried my best. Let me know if it works or if I've got the totally wrong idea. Like I said, nothing to go off of before me. Name: Danives Age: Ancient Appearance: Ever a god for dramatic appearances, Danives tends to show as... Well, whatever the hell that thing is, when materializing to mortal eyes. Or divine eyes, frankly. Otherwise, he -is- a shadow. Because, well. God of shadows. Allegiance: God Personality: Outside of his overly dramatic appearance, Danives is pretty casual as far as the whole 'powerful ancient spirit' thing goes. He likes games and puzzles of the mind, taunting and goading other spirits and mortals into playing his games, be they violent and bloody or simple riddles. As far as 'conversation' goes, he tends to be... Sarcastic and dry in humor. Skills and Abilities: As the God of Shadows and Patron of Assassins, it's only natural that Danives would hold capabilities suited to each roll. Shadows themselves bend to his whim, creating- if briefly- grand beasts of pure shadow. When materialized in the perception of mortals, he can cloak himself in those same shadows, becoming invisible to the eye. Should his name be invoked, he can go to and assist a worshipper with these capabilities. And of course, he can turn to shadow himself. Should combat against mortals or other spirits arise, he relies on long-standing skill with blades and the general nuisance of an ability to suddenly turn into shadow to survive and dish out the pain. Backstory: He bears the same general story as most God-Spirits might. He was neutral in the whole war against daddy gold, and once the dust settled, he took to taking worshippers under his wing. Though considering his shadowy nature and tendencies, his worshippers were... Not the most sunshine and daisies types. And so he became the patron to assassins everywhere. Not the largest group of followers, perhaps, but he's never been one to complain about numbers, and is quite -fond- of his mortal followers, often intervening in their affairs, both to assist them and get his own kicks and giggles. Religion: To his Worshippers, Danives requires no offerings, no daily prayer. He asks not that his followers abide to any strict code of conduct. They may live their lives as they choose, so long as they recognize his presence in their lives. But, should his name be invoked for help, for his ability, he required blood- Not of the servant, but of their quarry. Deaths made with Danives' power, are claimed by Danives himself. Like the Grim, he steals away the souls of the departed... Though rather than usher them to new life, Danives keeps them for his own uses, his own power. Despite not requesting prayer or offerings, the number of Danives' followers remains in the low hundreds, causing the occult to take root in his worship. Prayers, minor sacrifices, things of that nature- All offered to him from his small group of mortals rather regularly. Nation: Due to the small number of his followers, no true nation lives under Danives. However, his followers are scattered throughout the world, and easily recognizable among the other mortal races. For while they physically do not change, their shadows are ever present- In the noon day sun, of the darkest of rooms, their shadows always loom. Should a man or woman turn their heart to Danives, they will find that their shadow takes on a life of its own, often reaching out to touch those around it, taking on a menacing, bestial appearance. And, with this shadow, comes the knowledge of assassins. All men under his gaze are capable assassins in their own right.

The New Templars

Oi, folks, give me an opinion on this for the RP's music theme. Nice mix of classic and electronic orchestra, I think. Fit the general old-new theme of things, ya think? https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kR2Fo3B5r2c

The New Templars

Thank you, I aim to please~. And aye, I think it's a grand idea. Go for it.

The New Templars

I got bored. So while we wait on everybody to post up in the IC, I decided I'm going to put a chunk of writing here for yall to read. Shall depict the day that Isaac left the Templar to join the Free Men. Well, more accurately, several days later when he and Jason got into a major bash out and turned each other into bloody pulps before parting ways. ________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Jason remembered the rain most of all... It had been pouring in the courtyard that day, trapped in the walls and leaving them splashing through an inch of water, rising more quickly than it drained through cracks and the gate. He stood across from Isaac as he had done countless times before, but now there was no brotherly love between them. What was about to happen was no friendly spar, no joyful debate. Those nearby could see it in their eyes, boring into each other like the burning flames of hell itself. None dared to get between them- They all knew full well there wasn't a man alive that could get between the Bellhan brothers and hope to survive with all of their limbs. Jason was the first to lash out with his voice, cutting the rain with a swipe of his hand, vehemence in his words nearly palpable. "You stand here, -brother-, expecting me to stay civil!? You turned your back on us! Worse, you turned your blade on Father! And now you have the gal to come -here-, to the heart of our order, expecting a pleasant farewell as you run off to join the men we've fought and killed for years?" Despite the heat of his words, his voice never raised above what was necessary to be heard over the pouring rain. The fact was not mimicked by his younger brother, who felt no qualms with shouting to make his emotion known. "Wrongfully so! Did ever once stop to consider that we might be on the wrong side of things here, Jason? Did you ever think that maybe, just maybe, -we're- the bastards in this war? Yes, I turned my back on you. All of you! Father tried to stop me, and it cost him a little blood. I came to apologize before I go, but now I don't think I will! I never should have in the first place. You're all fools! Tyrants! So come on, 'big brother'! Hit me. Shout. Bluster and strike out like you always have! You're only furious because you know how right I am." Had anybody else said the words, Jason might have let it pass, might just have brushed it off with a chuckle. But coming from his own little brother, it stung more than it ever could have from another soul. And it was that fact that caused him to do just what Isaac said, to lash out with one heavy fist. There was no talent or grace to the strike, merely the blind, rage-filled power of a furious man. His knuckles met with Isaac's jaw and sent him stumbling back with a snarl, hand flying up to press over the pain. He had little doubt it had knocked a few teeth loose, if not out. But there wasn't time to think of the pain. Both men reached for the broadswords on their backs. Identical, shining blades of the finest metal. Twin swords crafted specifically for the brothers. They drew in unison, blades catching the dim grey light of the day, seeming to leap and jump as rain pattered off of their surfaces. There was only enough time for onlookers to draw a breath before the brothers lunged at each other with such speed and strength they rarely displayed. At first, only the most practiced eyes could keep up with the dizzying display of swordsmanship. The men danced and leaped, spun and dove. Back and forth they went, blades naught but blurred lines of light flashing through the space between them, steely clashes merging into one long hiss of metal to the observing ears. Neither brother seemed to have the upper hand, each equally skilled. One handed, two handed, blocking, parrying, counterstriking. They clashed as they had trained to since they were but boys. Isaac had his height and his speed, where Jason had his strength and endurance. Neither wore their armor, so small cuts and scrapes appeared along their arms and torsos as the battle heaved on. An overhand from Isaac, deflected to the side by Jason and returned with a heavy pommel smash into his sternum. A swift back swing in reply sent skipping overhead, only to sharply turn back down and cleave a length of skin from the surface of Jason's shoulder. The newer recruits watched in utter awe of the two masters, minds barely able to keep up until finally they locked blades and stepped in close, giving a break in the constant stream of attack and counter attack. Isaac, the taller of the two, had the upper hand in grapples such as this, able to bear down on Jason from above- But he could never match his brothers raw muscle, leaving them near a match, pushing back and forth, noses millimeters apart, eyes locked and snarls on their faces. And then, off they went again. Jason's head lashed forward, cracking their skulls together and sending Isaac stumbling back, just managing to parry the rapid stab that followed before regaining his balance and leaping forward with a twirling overhand flourish, practically shaving the hair from Jason's chin as he swayed to the side in avoidance, his own blade whipping around with a flick of the wrist, tip opening a shallow, bloody furrow across both of Isaac's thighs, at the cost of failing to parry a rapid thrust that opened the skin over his left eye, half blinding him as the blood flowed into his gaze, forcing him to squint one eye shut. Then, the both of them switched their holds to two handed, lunging forward in another flurry of back and forth strikes. Just when it seemed Jason might be gaining the upper hand in their brawl, however, Isaac pulled such an underhanded move that he never would have made before he turned against the Templars- His leg snapped up, delivering a brutal shin kick to the fork of Jason's legs. There was enough force behind the low blow to send Jason reeling back, dropping to his knees with eyes glazed over in pain, sword clattering to the cobbles, muted to his ringing ears. As comical as it might have been in days long since passed to take a kick to the manhood, there was no humor in this day- The underhanded strike left Jason defeated and defenseless, inevitable reflex tears streaming from his eyes to blind him as his body tried to settle the sudden lancing pain between his legs. Just when he felt he might be able to stand and pick up his blade, he felt a cool pressure against his brow, looking up to see Isaac standing over him, his pistol pressed against Jason's brow and a sneer on his face. "This is why you'll always lose, Jason. You're so -honorable-. Not everybody fights like you. Not everybody avoids low blows if they need to win." All too suddenly, he lashed his hand back, then forward, ramming the grip of his pistol into Jason's temple, causing him to collapse sideways, unconscious. He turned, sheathing his sword and holstering the pistol, striding from the keep without so much as a hint of resistance from the other Templars... They all knew they couldn't win in a fight against Isaac. Stopping him would be suicide. Jason woke from the dream-memory with a gasp, his brothers final parting whisper echoing in his ears briefly. "Good bye, brother." _______________________________________________________________________________ I probably enjoyed writing that too much.

The New Templars

One in the morning it may be, but it's still evening. Your arguments are all bloody invalid. IT'S NOT MORNING. IT'S EVENING. I DIDN'T LIE.