Dirzrahel
05-08-2010, 05:32 PM
Kingdom Template -
Kingdom Name: Gundolath
Ruler: Kerrain Guil'tee
Government Type: Hereditary Monarchy
Brief History:
Gundolath was originally under the rule of a self=proclaimed king by the name of Gregory Tundringl. He had seized the kingdom after killing the prior king, Kerrain's father, Anton Guil'tee. Unfortunately at that time, Kerrain was but a baby, and was cast off and away from the castle to the wharfs and seafarers alike. Kerrain was then picked up by the dread pirate Captain Grenhaw and his ship the Grenavive and taught the ways of the elite rapscallion as well as the seas of trading. It was then during a moment recorded in Gundolathian history that King Kerrain Guil'tee received the blade Degel DeSaga and learned of his origin, then began a campaign of his own accord that seized back his kingdom from Gregory's clutches.
Over the next years Kerrain gathered people far and wide and built a grave to commemorate the father that raised him, Captain Grenhaw. The pirate captain was buried in a crystal prison that overlooks the sea, so the dread pirate would never forget his birth in life, afterlife, and death. King Kerrain Guil'tee has led Gundolath into peace, turning the kingdom into a bustling trade city that is filled with a multitude of different races and cultures.
Gundolath is known as the Foreign Quarter by most traders, since there is such a multi-cultural influence on the white walls of the city and the white buildings inside the walls.
The law of the city is upheld by the four protection squads that Kerrain has appointed, symbolizing the four high towers that define Gundolath's city structure.
Race/s: Open to all races.
Notable Personalities:
King: Kerrain Guil'tee
Advisor: Darius Darkstalker
First Protection Squad Commander: Dirzrahel Favenhall
Second Protection Squad Commander: Brizyrr Vilvyl
Third Protection Squad Commander: Firenze Nightinggale
Fourth Protection Squad Commander: Xerxes Nightinggale
Character Templates:
Name - Kerrain Guil'tee
Age - 26
Date of Birth - Unknown
Homelands - Gundolath
Race - Human
Signature Move -
Incarnation -
The wielder calls upon his True Soul, and transmogrifies into the demon he is. Dark energy gathers and escalates to untold potentials as it surges into the wielder of Degel deSaga, the necroplasmic power countouring and twisting his or her body. Black energy starts to pour out of the wielder's body not soon after, cracking his or her skin as if it were stone, and forming an outer layer of demonic skin. The wielder's eyes are erased as the pupil is destroyed, leaving a pair fo bare white orbs that mist black whisps of Death energy. A pair of horns sprout from the forehead, along with steroid-like enhancement of the musculature.
As the body is getting used to its new changes, a pair of gargantuan black raven wings rip out of his or her back, spraying a gush of blood onto the area of transmogrification. As all new ligaments form on the body and adjust themselves, a layer of energy encases the wilder's body and disappeares, leaving the raiment Rondel deSaga in place. At the end of Incarnation, an area-effecting wave of Death energy floods the air. All physical parameters are off the charts in degree and the Incarnated is invulnerable to all types of status-altering spells.
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{Weapon information}
Degel deSaga
A blade of complete and concentrated mania, death, and darkness. Degel deSaga can rip through any form of defense, and even without swinging, the wielder can demoralize his foe by simply raising this awesome force of destruction. Most run in terror from he who wields the Buster. Unfortunately, the sword is diminished in its current form. All the remains is a simple, golden sword hilt. It resembles that of a double-headed hatchet with the frontal blade slightly bigger than the back blade. In the center is a circle separated by a thin line, almost as if the two half circles were eyelids. However, the hilt isn't completely useless. The power of the sword is not gone, but entrapped within its golden prison. Only when the wielder is truly enlightened shall the blade reveal its glory.
{Armour Information}
Bare Skin (Normal)
Normally, with Kerrain being Unincarnated, he wears nothing but a pair of regular black sack cloth pants. His chest is visible, as are many battle scars he has accumulated while roaming the high seas. On both biceps he has chained silver bands which are etched with ancient runes, but both bands have no purpose while Kerrain is Unincarnated. However, Kerrain does make use of the loose chainlinks on the bands; for instance, providing more mass to make impact while hitting. Almost identical bands are located on his ankles, and on first glance, one would categorize Kerrain as an ex-slave. Which he was, until he freed himself. On his back are more scars from the whippings he endured as a slave, along with a large and symbolic tattoo. The tattoo is of a dragon, a bone dragon, and is sign of his schooner as it comes into the port. The bone dragon is spread along his entire back, his shoulder blades being the wings, the back of his neck the head, and the starting curve of his butt being the end of the tail.
Rondel deSaga (Incarnation)
This armor is the perfect pairing for Degel deSaga, since they were both made by the same smith. This garment had not a speck of metal in it, mainly because it is woven of small, fine dragon skin threads. The raiment is black of color with gold trimmings and small, hidden pockets for needles or perhaps miniscule knives. The cloth is impervious to any blade piercing it, although, being hit by a sword does leave a nasty bruise. Moreover, this armor is not worn in broad daylight nor is it actually a REAL piece of armor. Rondel deSaga appears on the wielder of Degel deSaga after Incarnation. There is not mcuh else known about this armor, since Kerrain has only revealed his Incarnation once and once only.
{Accessory Information}
Signet Earring
A small, silver earring that is the only remaining evidence that Kerrain is indeed human. After the atrocites he's seen and what he's transformed into, the boy is plague by his thoughts of being undead, or worse, inhuman. The demon within Degel deSaga warps his mind each time he takes the hilt into his hand, but this earring has placed on it a powerful enchantment which renders the demonic voice fo the blade useless. The ring is a medium-sized loop on his left ear, with two spikes that meet in the middle on the inside.
{Physical Description}
Fluffy, scraggily, yet clean black hair tops the behemoth that is Kerrain. His face is angled and brutal, a combination of handsome and rugged flavor that he uses to lure ladies into a trap. Perhaps to steal their gold. Always go for the rich brauds. With eyes that twinkle like the northern star yet black as a piece of obsidian stone, he looks somewhat like an innocent boy. If it weren't for the scars on his chest, riddling what would have been perfection, most would be attracted to his company. Kerrain makes sure of this by not wearing a shirt to let his scars be seen. He's more of an antisocial type of guy. Luckily, he is clothed from the waist down. He may not like company, but in regards to it, he doesnt' want to attract the wrong company by walking around in the nude.
A pair of simple, black cloth pants he has. However, not shoes. He does not enjoy feeling a leather sole, but rather, the texture of the ground beneath him. He finds it incredibly comfortable to feel the cold morning dew of grass when he awakens. On his back he has a vicious design for a tattoo, a necromantic dragon displayed in its might. The black tattoo itself covers his entire back, leaving not a bit of skin color, which by the way, is a fine tan. That is due simply because of his pirate life. A quadlet of slave bracers are attached to his upper arms and ankles, though, Kerrain would rather not speak of his own personal manners. So totter off. A silver earring sparkles on his left ear, a hoop with two spikes that begin inward and end at his earlobe, nearly piercing the skin. Beyond the intricate detail, on first sight, Kerrain looks as if he were an unfortunate, yet young, beggar. This is a simple illusion to cover up the fact that he will be swindling you out of your money.
{Background}
Stillness in the night.
Old groans and creaks spoke in the salty air, aged timber rocked back and forth as if upon a great rocking chair. Jade eyes gazed forth into the wall before the pale, everlasting wall before them. The statuesque mermaid played her barnacled harp as The Grenavive cut its way through the thick fog. The top deck was abandoned by its regular traffic of leather-soled feet and noxious spit. Though, the wood itself viewed that as no loss.
However, the star-sprinkled night sky isn’t the main focus, the focal point. A rustle below deck catches the ears of a particularly astute corsair, as he makes his way down to the cargo hold.
A baby lay nestled within a patch of burlap sacks containing grain. Ultimately, the babe had decided the grain was somewhat uncomfortable. Yet, it didn’t cry. The baby simply gazed up through the caged outlet of the cargo hold, looking through the windowed lattice and gazing up toward the twinkling sky. The night was beautiful, the air was crisp, the sea was clear. This babe’s future was not.
“Cap’n! We got ‘urselves a stow’way!” The incredibly astute corsair declared, yelling up from the cargo hold and beyond. Soft plunking soon followed as the door to the mess slammed open, followed by the heavy metal boots of a Captain Grenhaw. His ship was named after his daughter, who turned out to be a harlot, and who now cons rich men. Though, that was after he named the ship in her liking. The megaton boots made their way down the staircase and stopped abruptly in front of the cargo hold’s entrance. A minute later, the captain came in and glared ferociously at his hated adversary, a . . . baby?
“Yeh idjit! Tis hain’t no stow’way! Tis be a wee babeh! Hwat beh ‘rong wit ye man?” The captain bellowed, as well as going against the idiom of ‘say it, don’t spray it’.
Of course, the baby knew this first hand. The captain made history by being the first to spit on a baby on his own pirate ship. However, the baby soon looked past the spit upon his bald forehead and was soont transfixed by the appearance of the captain. Long and scraggily crimson hair was shocked into place under a grandiose hat. A pair of green eyes looked at him, a vertical scar over his left. Though, the scar fell short of begging the question when the baby gained new attention on the mighty behemoth of a beard! The gargantuan thing trailed down to his knees and was as crimson as his head of hair, and the baby was all too anxious to touch the magnificent specimen. Around the treasured beard was a robust black and gold-trimmed overcoat over an overly-large dueling shirt. Also, a monster of a belt held the bell-bottomed pants up, and a master-worked cutlass at his hip.
The captain moved over and looked upon the baby from his surpluses height, a wicked grin coming upon his face.
“Oh, weel do ye, babeh. Weel do ye propah.” He said, looking to his corsair.
“Eeve olwayz want’d eh sun.”
CRASH!
The ship dropped anchor as the gangplank slammed onto the harbor’s docking platform. The metal of cutlasses clanged in unison as a horde of corsairs charged down the gangplank, torches in hand. The night sky was lit up by razing flames from the raider’s party. At the lead was a somewhat familiar face, but this raider did not have a cutlass like his fellows. His bare knuckles and feet were his weapon of choice. This man stood at a near six feet and four inches, with a chest that was both wide and muscular. Scars riddled his breast, as well as his arms. Some wounds were extremely fresh as well. The people of Hindoril were defending themselves from the pirate raiders, the baby become man leading the raid. The lone leader strode down a blazing street, his eyes covered by his thick, black hair. A group of farmers came running down the street at him, stopping a mere inches from our protagonist.
“He’s one of them!”
“Get him!”
“Skewer him!”
“Don’t let him get away!”
“Heh heh heh . . .”
The first farmer was down, eight more to go. The dead one had charged the boy and tried to hit him in the face with a shovel, but the boy moved with inhuman grace and avoided the attack, slamming his hand into the back of the farmer’s head and causing a cranial rupture. Blood was already gathering in a puddle behind him. A second farmer came not long after, raising a pitchfork the stab him. However, the boy had already counteracted the poor farmer. The pitchfork flew from the laborer’s hand as the boy grabbed it, twisting the makeshift stave around and flipping the farmer high into the air with alien vigor, the pitchfork flying straight up into the air and piercing straight through the farmer’s body, raking out his innards. The farmer was still up in the air when the boy leaped, grabbing onto the farm tool’s handle and ripping it out of its former owner. With a simple flick, the pitchfork rushed down and caught another farmer’s neck, pinning him to the ground. Unfortunately, the boy had chosen this specific farmer to be the one to be kept alive, perhaps to tell the story. The boy landed flawlessly from the air. . . to balance on the top of the pitchfork’s handle.
The farmer’s stared with fear and rancor at their enemy, flaunting his agility and strength, killing their friends! Who was this beast?
“Guil’tee! Weeve got tis, mate! Gerrover to the captain! He needs yur ‘elp mur den weh do!”
And with that, “Guil’tee” jumped off of his perch and flew like a phantom in the air, landing into a run on the flaming rooftops. The baby was not as innocent as he looked that long while back then. The babe had turned into a monster. A cold-hearted murderer and assassin. Kerrain Guil’tee, the whirlwind of oblivion, was his epithet.
Kerrain padded at a breakneck pace along the rooftops, fire licking at his ankles. Captain Grenhaw was in trouble, and if the captain was in trouble, something was seriously wrong.
“HAR HAR! Eeve not meht a pearson who cou’ out-swor’ meh!”
Captain Grenhaw stood deadlocked with a maiden in black robes. The captain had his hands in a sweaty grip about a long, wide, and curved cutlass. Kerrain automatically identified it as his captain’s, since it was engraved with the language of Captain Grenhaw’s birthplace, and because red diamonds were incased within the metal of the grand blade. However, Kerrain did not believe his eyes when he saw the opponent of his captain. A woman? How? And what in the world was she holding in her hand? A golden hilt, similar to the one hanging on his captain’s belt, with a blade like none he’s ever seen before. It was like white fire. A fountain of it, streaming from the blade, a regular geyser of power! Kerrain could feel the energy from atop the roof, through the flames. He knew his captain was in trouble. Immediately, his legs flexed and launched him from the rooftop to land beside Captain Grenhaw.
“Eh, boy! Whaterya doin’ ’ere?”
“Your first mate said that you were in trouble, my captain. I see that he was correct.”
“Ehheheh, whyse you olwayz speakin’ lie tha’? Speak lie a man, boy! As yeh ken seh, I ain’ en no trubble. Tho’, dis dame do figh’ well, eh boy?”
Kerrain looked upon the maiden and drew a wry smile upon his face, pushing back his hair so he could see her with no hindrance. His eyes reflected the flames around them, echoing the destruction he stood for. And for a split-second, the maiden stopped and looked to Kerrain, freezing in her tracks, her grip failing her. The captain took this advantageous moment and deflected her fiery white blade, spinning around to slash her, to be struck in the breast by a fatal blow. Captain Grenhaw stumbled and fell to the ground, giving off a chuckle.
“Heh heh…” The captain gurgled an ounce of blood and spit it to the ground.
Kerrain nearly stumbled as he rushed next to his captain, holding his foster father’s chin up.
“Yeh seh, boy. Tis is wer I totta’ off. Yeeve goht a graayt lif’ a’ead of yeh. But yeh seh, boy. I em naught en it. Retrea’ boy. Go. . . Kerrain.”
Captain Grenhaw spit his last mouthful of blood, his face growing pale. With one last breath, he was gone form this world and into the next. The hooded maiden swung her blade into the air upwards, the white fires ceasing to be. She was silent as she stared, looking at the captain, then to the boy. She looked upon him in a kind manner, but in no way was she Kerrain’s long lost parents or siblings. Any experienced woman would know it was a crush. The maiden moved forward to touch Kerrain. . . as she saw his eyes. Pure hatred emanated from the boy’s eyes as they slowly turned toward the maiden, the fires shunned from the blackness of his eyes, all that was left was a pair of blank orbs, saturated with pure darkness.
Pick me up, Wielder.
A voice echoed in Kerrain’s head as his eyes left the maiden and to the lonely hilt tied to Captain Grenhaw’s belt. The boy focused on the hilt as the center opened up, revealing the a black eye of a dragon. It stared back at Kerrain as the boy was taken aback, then fell into league. He ripped the hilt off of his captain’s belt and held it in his hand, standing up to his full height as he looked down at the maiden. She looked back, though her body be still. Her hand reached unsurely to her robe and clasped her own lonely hilt, its golden sheen reflecting fof the fire as it was brought out. She placed the blade flatly in the air and held it before her heart, as it instantly ignited again into the white flames. Kerrain looked down at the hilt and soon came to be shocked, for there in the hilt was another dragon eye, this one being white.
The boy took the hilt he held and placed it against his bare chest, the black dragon eye looking at the girl, then closing its gaze.
And now another in born. Wielder. Call upon mine name.
“DEGEL DESAGA, ESPADA!”
The hilt’s eye flashed open with a brilliant flash of darkness as a black blade of wreathing flames ignited from it. The maiden automatically surged backwards in alarm, and she realized why she liked the boy. He was a Wielder.
Kerrain’s eyesight was sharpened, his muscles enhanced, his mind craftier than ever. He felt power surge through him as he held the blade, Degel deSaga, in his hands.
---Cue “Last Resort” by Papa Roach---
“Heheheh…HAHAHAH!!!”
Kerrain’s body was immolated by dark fire as he embraced the power of the blade, but as a first-timer, he did not know the effect such power had on his mind. He was turning insane with every second, the power overflowing within his body. The maiden rose her blade in defense as a wave of death energy covered the area, crumbling the blazing buildings with a simple touch.
”Use me, Wielder. DESTROY HER!”
The boy rose Degel deSaga for an instant and rushed forward in a blur, the maiden having to raise her blade in a lucky manner and catching a lucky parry. However, that would be the last attack she blocked against. Kerrain fell to the ground as he held his head, curling into the fetal position, as a feral yell of untold pain echoed across the continuing wasteland. The black fire of the blade grew and soon encased Kerrain, lifting the boy into the air as it surged into his body. In through his mouth, his eyes, his ears, his nose, the dark spirit invading his body and taking him.
“Recite the incantation, Wielder. You KNOW it.”
“INCARNATION!”
The maiden heard this and brought her hands together, forming a white flaming shield around her body. Death energy pulsed silently from the boy’s body as buildings toppled, and soon, a giant dome of dark magic exploded from Kerrain’s body and took out the ship, disintegrated his captain’s body, and crumbled every building left standing for miles. Kerrain’s hatred was fueling the blade. The boy screamed in agony as gargantuan dragon wings ripped from his back, blood spraying onto the ground. His body shifted, his skin turning purple, his forehead growing two demonic horns, his muscles growing even more. The demon landed on his taloned feet and looked to the maiden and pointed Degel deSaga at her, the white shield disappeared.
“Meggido.”
Darkness grew everywhere and devoured the city, the maiden, and Kerrain’s fellow pirates…
Then, the boy woke up in a tavern, the hilt tied to his own belt.
The years after, he came back to his home, and made it his once more.
http://i57.photobucket.com/albums/g236/Darius234/kerr-1.jpg
Name: Darius Darkstalker
Age: 1131 human years old, but because of his heritage, he is always mistaken for being young. As in his 20's or 30's.
Race: Drow
Occupation: Soulforge Nightblade and an Advisor to Kerrain.
Ambission: Rid the world of Lloth and of course chill in da club sippin' some wine.
Companions: None at the moment.
Extra: With his eyes he can see spells and enchantments, as well as souls, he can also naturally see like day in the night.
Appearance:
Usually in his standard attire, full body black dragon hide armour, white wolf pelt detachable collar, forest green cloak, two swords, white medium-length hair, white pupiless eyes.
History:
It all started with two. An affair unkind, Darius's mother died giving birth to him out in thw wilderness, the father of Darius unknown. As a babe he crawled the forests of Frostmourn, looking for food, for he was no regular baby, he was quite smart for the age of 1. He soon learned to walk, and with that, in turn learned how to hunt and feed on his own. At the age of 2, while hunting a deer, Darius was picked up by an unknown entity. Once Darius opened his eyes, he realized...it was someone like him.
THe drow scout took Darius to Tekken'tal, where he was soon presented to Argot, he overruler. Argot is a gentleman, and good-hearted drow; he was shocked to find that Darius had learned all stuff by himself in a matter of two years, which in turn led Darius to be adopted by Argot. Now prince, Darius was trained in the most elite of techniques and battle rules, his swords carving others like a jet of quicksilver.
In due time, a tragedy must be brought forth. A war was happening between house Tekken'tal and humans of unknown lineage. The humans erected a wooden fort a mile away from Tekken'tal, taking the house under siege. Darius was the commander of the Tekken'tal army, being prince, so he marched his best men out to the fort. They succeeded, but at a cost. The human's king himself came to the fort, along with an army of infantry and archers, catapults, and mages. Darius fought hhis hardest, and finally reached the king. Asking the king to have a battle between him and he, Darius was soon denied the inquiry. There, on that ground, Darius was shot by the archers of that king. He was punctured by three hundred arrows, Darius fell to the ground, his blood staining the soft white snow.
The drow army's morale went down, but they fought on, and destroyed the army by mere luck if that was the case. They went home in agony, of losing their prince. Darius. ((now I will go in first-person tense))
Darius....Darius....awaken my son.....awaken my beautiful creation.....awaken....to the light....of the gods.
A strange force ecgarden toold in my head, it was like the song of the sirens, except the hynotic part. I felt, lifted, free of responsibilty, free of everything. My eyes fluttered to behold life as I have never seen it. This place, it was full of light and effervescence. This place was not regular, it had to be holy, it had to be of the Divine. I looked forward from my laying position, and quickly got up from my downed state, and for some reason, my swords were not on me. I looked at what looked to be a floating man, light flooding from his body. He carried a golden spear, and he had wings, which were the complete antithesis of each other; one white, and one black.
The creature looked at me, and spoke, his voice killing my ears.
Hello, Darius, I have been waiting for you for quite sometime, my son. I am Desgrin, supreme god of gods, and you have stepped onto the welcome mat of the Divine world. DO you know why you are here?
I looked at the creature....er...Desgrin in misbelief. Why did he call me 'son', and I don't have an answer for his question either.
"I merely do not know, Desgrin, perhaps with your infinite knowledge, you could maybe...enlighten me of this situation?" Darius asked, his voice also a little ecgarden tooly.
Heh, you always were the bright one, my son, and I will answr you as a father should. You are here, becuase of me. Do you know who your father is, Darius? I am the unknown bearer that put your mother in pregnancy, though mortals that consumate with gods die when giving birth, I am sorry. You are a god, Darius, the god of Life and Death, for now you have experienced both.
No, no, this cannot be. I cannot be a god, I have never been able to fly, and to have power? By Des...father...I have only used magic. But power would be so much of a burden. But, I cannot be of Life and Death, I have never been able to control the ancient flames that reside in Tekken'tal. The flames of Volar and Andium, white and black fire.
"How can this be Des....er...father? I cannot control the fires of Life and Death, this cannot be even possible for me to be in this realm first off!"
Desgrin looks at Darius, and grins. He held out his hands, and two swords appeared, both alike and not alike, both the same snd also the antithesis of each other.
Diasmon and Firenze have blessed you with these blades, Darius. These swords are Volar and Andium. They are the blades of Balance. Volar and Andium themselves are joined with these swords, awaiting your grasp, for once you grip these, you are forever a god amongst mortals. Volar and Andium will join with your soul, making you the bring of Grey, the Apostle of Life and Death. Will you take up your post, Darius, or will you forsake your own heritage?
I, in disbelief, look at the blades. They were made of metal I have never seen, and they glew with strange proportion. They were Divine Blades, most likely able to cut through anything. Darius sat, and thought over this for a little while. He stood up, and walked toward Desgrin, then knealed.
"I take your offer, father, I will act as your son and take my place. One question I might ask though, how am I suppose to get back on the earth realm?"
Desgrin smiled, and laughed a bit.
You will know how to, when the time comes Darius. Then with these swords, I dub you the Gray Prince, the Apostle of Life and Death, the God of Balance.
Desgrin takes the two swords, and knights Darius, who then starts glowng like Desgrin.
I took the swords form the father, and swung them around. They were light as a feather, but sharp as a...as a....nothing is sharp as these fine edges. I sheathed them, and I bowed to my father.
"You said I'd know when the time comes, and now I do, father. I will help the lands of this realm, in the name of myself, and the gods."
Darius snapped his fingers, and the real world was replaced. He got up, his body was soaked with blood, but arrows were not seen where arrow punctures shold be, quite strange. Darius turned and walked toward a lakem and saw his reflection. His eyes, which used to be coal black, were now quite..different. They were white, solid white, with no pupils. They emitted a little light, which was slightly strange also. He drew Volar and Andium, they were fine blades. His soul was not filled by them yet, however. He crossed the blades in an 'X', and then something hurtful, and wiered at the same time happened. THe two dragons were shot out of the swords, Volar and Andium. THe looked down at Darius, and rushed toward him like a magnet attracting iron, then once the hit Darius, they dug inside his soul like two gophers. Darius was in extreme pain, the dragons were then united with Darius's soul, and Darius lay down in the snow for awhile. He would go to Tekken'tal when his body could move again.
He travelling went on and on until a ship took him to the port of Gundolath, sick and despaired. Kerrain saw his potential and took him in, recognizing his intelligence, and making him his advisor.
http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y228/netbunet/drizzt.bmp
Name: Dirzrahel Favenhall
Age: 128 Moon years
Race: 1/2 Drow 1/2 Angelic
Gender: Male
Family: Darius Darkstalker (Father)
Ocupation: First Protection Squad Leader
Appearance: A white garment covers him, made of white dragon hide. His white, wild, and natural grown hair sways all of his shoulders, and he always holds his weapon. A black scythe that holds the power of the wind itself. Two large wings resembling angelic-like figures sprout from his back.
Personality: He is cunning, stealthy, and noble.
History: His birth was unplanned and complicated. Nobody loved him, nobody hated him. He was out of the crowd, not among his half-brethren. He was born under the stars of all gods, yet he did not fit in. Until he came to one place. He was adopted as a child by Darius, but then a battle ensued in Darius's cabin while he was out hunting, Dirzrahel disappeared and his two sons and also his mate Auril, were murdered. Dirzrahel floated in the ocean and was picked up near the shoreline of Irhad.
He became the leader of House Tilduring, becuase of his airborne qualities, and that he had a nack for planning and fighting for his house. There was no leader when he got there, so he stood up to pledge.
Years later he found his father, Darius, working as the advisor of the king of Gundolath. Naturally, Dirzrahel displayed his skill and earned the right to lead the first protection squad.
http://i55.photobucket.com/albums/g150/Yummah/FantasyArt--Drow--AngelicDrizzt.jpg
Name: Brizyrr Vilvyl
Age: 89 Moon Years
Race: 2/3 Drow, 1/3 Water Elemental
Gender: Male
Family: None, he is alone since his wife died of disease.
Appearance: His usual attire is a dark green type of vegetation that seems to grow upon him in a peculiar manner. The vegetation itself is very fatal to those who taste it. His facial features are much like a hunter, a panther. His eyes dark with knowledge and wisdom. He is very well built, and he rarely uses a weapon. THe vegetation upon him can grow along his arm and stiffen to make a blade extending from the back of his hand, and he can also control water.
History: Brizyrr was born and raised in Irhad. An accident occured one fateful day as he swallowed a water elemental on accident, and absorbed it's DNA to reconfigure his own, making him part drow, part elemental. His father was the prior ruler of house Gurthel, and the fact that he could control water was even mroe so why he was made the next ruler. HE married his wife at 20 moon years, but after another 20 moon years of happy marriage, she died of a disease related to Brizyrr himself, since she accidently ate the vegetation that grew upon him while sleeping.
Although he is indeed a pitiful fellow, he's also an adept at the art of combat and earned his place as the leader of one of the protection squads.
http://i57.photobucket.com/albums/g236/Darius234/Brizyrrsig1.gif
Name - Firenze Nightinggale
Age - 27
Date of Birth - 46 Banak's Day
Homelands - Kerrai'anu
Race - Demon/Fire Elemental
Signature Move -
Flame Crucible
Flames engulf Firenze's body as he rushes forward and jumps high into the air. Upon reaching the zenith of his jump, Firenze twists downwards into a spiral dive as his falling body resembles a meteor. As he reaches the middle of his dive he flips backwards as the giant fireball surges toward the ground, he lands and swipes his blade in a horizontal then vertical motion as a flaming cross hits the target at the exact same time the fireball does.
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Chath and Ysiri's Gauntlet
Chath is a single-edged longsword made of pure adamantium. Its hilt is designed with two demonic wings linked together by solid cords and diamond-coated wolf teeth devour the beginning of the blade. The handle is a series of linked together adamantium discs and ends in a flat obsidian pommel stone.
Ysiri's Gauntlet empowers Firenze's fire-based elements and acts as a weapon as well as an armguard. Falmes can burst from the ribbed openings of the gauntlet and create a fire shield on whim from Firenze, and is also used in a special technique for Firenze to focus his ability for an all-out flame barrage. The Gauntler is dark red and has many sections to it, also, spikes come out at the shoulder region and can be used as a side-face guard or a weapon to impale enemies.
[enchantments]
Chath is enchanted to absorb fire energy from Firenze and become immolated on command.
Ysiri's Gauntlet empowers his element and can act as a focusing device.
{Armour Information}
Ysiri's Gauntlet ((described above))
[enchantments]
Ysiri's Gauntlet has the ability to create a flaming shield.
{Accessory Information}
Nightinggale Cape
The cape is of two cloths that connect at a central region at the neck. It is beige-colored and long to Firenze's feet. The cape is also in tatters, since it has been worn a long time. There is also a demonic rune on one cape part.
[what it does]
The demonic rune means "Change", and that is what the cape does. On command from Firenze, the cape can form a barrier between himself and a foe; it can swirl around Firezne and give him the ability to camouflage himself as well. That cape usually only likes being used thrice in one day.
{Physical Description}
Firenze is a tall demon of about six-feet, and resembles a human in skin save for the natural blood-red hair and crimson eyes. He possesses amazing strength even for his figure, which is lean and slim, and has speed to match his demonic heritage. Firenze can change to a demon form as well. WHen in his demonic form, he grows horns that average a foot in length and grows black wings. His skin color doesn't change, but his eyes start misting black and glow red like a lantern.
He always wear the same washed-out shirt as well as his loose-fitting brown pants. The pants have a leg pack about mid-length down his right leg, which is where he keeps various provisions, tools, and potions. His belt his special in only as how he can push the buckle and a small throwing blade wiht pop out, which he uses in emergency.
{Background}
Firenze comes from a well-to-do demon city called Kerrai'anu, which means; Devil's Parlor. He was born to a beggar family, but they soon moved up in rank to that of a noble thanks to a lucky dip in the lottery of the town. Another noble family won the lottery, they were killed, and Firenze's family discreetly seized their possessions.
He was born a natural at fire-conjuring and soon became an adept by the age of eight. It was only when he reached his eleventh birthday when his father, Jerran Nightinggale, presented his son with the family sword, Chath. Firenze later used a friendly smelter's store to make his own adjustments to the blade, and enchanted it to blend with his fire-wielding.
Not long after he made adjustments to the blade, he happened upon an arm gauntlet at this smelter's store. Absently, Firenze threw it out the window to later recover it at dark. He learned what the gauntlet was and did only by chance, for he was reading a book about rare artifacts from an ancient demonic city. RIght then and there, he became proud of himself that he used the five-finger discount to obtain a powerful piece of armor and weaponry.
At his eighteenth birthday, his parents sent him off to school because they wanted him to refine his abilities and bring honor to their household. Firenze, however; had something else on his mind...
{Extra/Personality}
Because of Firenze's affinity with fire elemental attacks, he is very weak to water elemental attacks. If water touches the gauntlet, he cannot use it as a focusing device or as an extension for a flamethrower; it will not be able to empower his elemental affinity as well. If Firenze himself is drenched, he cannot use his fire elemental powers because he is too cool, and he is usually over the temperature of 98.6 degrees when he is using his power. When Firenze creates the flame shield, it only stops magical attacks of the elements other than water. Swords and weaponry can go right through it.
His sword is very precious to him, and he guards it like a puppy guards its home. He doesn't let anyone touch it. Nobody. As well as his gauntlet. Nobody touches the gauntlet. NOBODY!
At times, Firenze cannot hold in his inner flame and he'll become immolated for a couple minutes. It is quite embarrassing, and usually leaves him debillitated.
Firenze is mostly a noble-minded figure, and will fight for his friends without even thinking.
http://i57.photobucket.com/albums/g236/Darius234/Tibersigglow.gif
Name: Xerxes Nightinggale
Age: 23
Race: Demon/Wind Elemental
Gender: Male
Family: Firenze Nightinggale - Older Brother
Appearance: Xerxes is of a darker side than his brother. A long dark cloak extends down his body and when called upon, can turn its owner invisible within the blink of an eye. He usually his hood pulled up, but under it lays the purple-eyed noble face of Xerxes with a billow of white, messy hair. He is a weekly-paid assassin and is highly skilled with his blade, using it back-handedly only. A glowing clasp holds together his outfit which is located near his neck. His pants have a design on the inside that gives him heightened speed and agility.
History: Xerxes grew up with his brother, Firenze, in their province in Xumai. His histroy is relatively the same as Firenze's save, Xerxes left the family a year after Firenze left to find his older brother. Xerxes hasn't found Firenze yet, and while searching, gained a job as an assassin from a guild near Cleth. He has been an assassin ever since, and thus, has forgotten about searching for his brother almost completely.
http://i510.photobucket.com/albums/s349/Loki-Letheren/Anime%20Characters/n.jpg
And many, many more. O.O
Mercenary Unit -
Unit Name: Fable
Commander Name: Ryker von Zephyrr
Unit Size: Twelve
History:
A spur of the moment contract sets these men in motion of Fable!
Notable Personalities:
Name: Ryker von Zephyrr
Age: Reincarnated, now 34 in his new life.
Sex: Male
Race: Moon-Slayer
The only one of his kind, a Moon-Slayer is a race that signifies a human who destroyed a moon. This explains why astronomy books detail Ether having four moons, down to now just three. It is a mysterious race. Defining himself, Ryker's skin glows faintly like the moon's surface and his irises are completely white.
Appearance: http://i57.photobucket.com/albums/g236/Darius234/Anime_Knight-1.jpg
Family:
Ryker is the only one of his kind, but before becoming a Moon-Slayer he was an orphan among humans.
Personality:
He is both kind and somewhat mean. He does not deal with arrogance, neither does he deal with ignorance. The world is a place to know, not to assume. It is said he is still a virgin, but no one has had the exact courage to ask. On first look, despite being a regular-sized man, he seems to be the scariest of all the adventurers. His eyes are what unnerve most people. White irises are completely uncommon, and throw people off when he looks around. Despite being a said 'virgin', he can fit quite the amount of alcohol under his belt.
{Weapon Information}
http://i57.photobucket.com/albums/g236/Darius234/IceScythe.jpg
The weapon that stays strapped onto Ryker's back at all times until it is necessary to unstrap. Aura is the scythe that killed the moon in Ryker's hand, and from being a regular scythe, it changed into something that reflected Ryker's change as well. It is rumored that Aura can reap its blade through any substance in an instant, like a stroke of death. Though, that's only from the observation of those who have teamed up with Ryker in the past. The most famous story is how a troll in full dragon-bone armor was sliced neatly in-half with one stroke.
Though, these are just rumors.
{Armor Information}
Essence
Essence is the raiment of armor that covers Ryker's body from head to toe. There are separate parts to it, one called Soul, which is the gauntlet covering his left hand. Since Ryker is left-handed, he uses this gauntleted hand in battle among other things. Soul increases the strength of Ryker's swings as well as the speed, allowing him faster than normal combination attacks with his heavy scythe. The other part is the sash that comes off the armor that is not made of fabric, but the raw material form of magick. This sash can be used to turn invisible, and is the source of all of Essence's power.
Mount:
No named mount. Ryker finds them complacent and not very reliable in situations. He prefer using his fists, legs, and Aura to deal with his bounties. Sometimes he may rent a stallion from the guild if there's a long distance to travel, or charter a trade ship to let him ride along with them.
Biography:
Time is complacent. Transitory. Effervescent.
That is the lesson I’ve learned after travelling the world in both space and time. The future holds both inexistence and existence. The past holds truth, the sooth of eons after. Which is one reason why I’m residing in the past. Specifically, the era of Edo. Where I am most interested in. The birth of society developed from these basic elements: food, shelter, and water.
However, as I resided here in both a Shinto and Buddhist temple, I learned even more than the resin-infused leaflets of a textbook.
Slowly but surely, I’ve managed to learn the language of Edo. It in itself bears no resemblance to modern Japanese, contested because Japanese was my twenty-second language before I attempted to trial run the Everlasting Hourglass. The earring is kept safely tucked in a cubby hole inside my personal room within the temple. Thought, I must say, most of my time is spent in the worship room, the main room, also a dojo when reverence time has passed.
“Ryker-san. Good morning.”
“Good morning, Hatori-sama,” I replied calmly.
“Ah, Ryker-san. There is no need for such pleasantry, white-haired white-eyed friend,” Hatori corrected, sitting across from Ryker at the main room’s table.
“Hatori-kun is perfectly acceptable,” he added.
“Sorry, my apologies, Hatori-sama. I owe you a great deal and have not thought of a way to repay you for—“
“Think nothing of it! Besides, there’s no other place for the Maou to reside,” Hatori interrupted.
My eyes shot up and glared at Hatori, the head monk not even disturbed by my gaze. That was another reason I stayed here. In all other places I had visited, this man was the only man to stare back into my eyes and smile.
“What do you mean by calling me Maou?” I inquired, curiosity gripping my spirit.
“Oh! Excuse me for my ignorance, Ryker-san. I had forgotten that you were not very well acquainted with our fair Edo. A Maou is a type of demon, to be more exact, the demon king. Usually strange-colored hair signifies a mazoku, or ayakashi; two common kinds of demons. However, you have white hair and no pupils, or even irises. Demons with matching hair and eyes are usually the most powerful. Your specific color makes you the most powerful, in theory. Therefore, to me, you are Maou.”
I pondered in disbelief as the monk explained to me my current situation in this land, but that only beguiled me more. That meant there were other people like me in this land. Or in any case, somewhat similar to me. Though, as I think about it more, I realized that their similarities had no hold over what I felt. I wanted to learn, to comprehend if I was one of them.
“Hatori…-kun. Where may I find such things as the mazoku and ayakashi?”
“Well, Ryker-san, the ayakashi usually appear at night, near midnight. However, the mazoku walk with humans in broad daylight. Even though it’s taboo, humans even marry mazoku and have children. We call the off-spring half-bloods,” Hatori explained.
“So, mazoku could be around me right now, in this temple?”
“No, this is a holy place. Remember, mazoku are demons, so stepping onto hallowed ground is impossible for them,” Hatori corrected.
Ryker stood up and bowed to Hatori, then turned toward the door. As soon as he’d reached the door, his head turned to look at Hatori once more.
“If that is the case, how am I in here?,” I asked.
“Because you’re an extremely powerful mazoku, which is why I called you Maou… you’re the only demon in my lifetime to walk in this temple.”
I thought to myself that perhaps I wasn’t a mazoku after all, but some glimmer of hope remained. I was ecstatic to know there may be others like me, even if it were this area. Thought, one fact eluded me. I still didn’t understand what purpose Hatori had for giving me the name, “Ryker von Zephyrr”.
Edo wasn’t an extremely magnificent city. Few attractions were beset in this large village, but its marketing section was the largest of all cities in this era. Foreign delicacies, ideas, rumors, even legends would spread around in this economy-rich community. From the temple spanned a long set of granite steps, leading down to the Golden Path, named so because the dirt of the path was a yellowish color most resembling gold. Also named because it is the only path which leads to the temple, and the path was meant to portray Confucious’s Golden Rule.
Ryker had started his walk along this path and was breathing in the sights around him. Gorgeous cherry blossom trees dotted the lush, green grass alongside the path. The air clear, yet crowed by the many pink hues of the sakura petals. He had learned that word from Hatori Hanzo, the priest who allowed him to stay within the temple.
However, now Ryker was on the search for a mazoku, or human-formed demon. He had not yet thought of what to ask such an individual. The gates of Edo were approaching as his brisk walk along the Golden Path went on. A large, grand senkai gate built from what looked like timber of a sakura tree. A senkai gate looked like the symbol of pi to him, its two long legs of dark wood holding two upside down arcs at the top. Hatori said these gates represent the passing of one dimension to another. Ryker would test that as he stepped through the gate precariously, and was blown away by the new atmosphere.
“Beans! Rice! Get them here cheap!”
“Chicken, beef, fish!”
“Onigiri, rice balls!”
“Bread, fresh baked! Young man, you there! Don’t you want some delicious bread?”
I shuffled by as inconspicuously as I could, but to no avail. Soon, the entirety of this market town caught up to me, and I ended up with two loaves of fresh bread and a couple rice balls, hastily eaten in no time at all when I had the chance. My original purpose was almost obscured by the world of Edo. Unfortunately, no one I had seen looked at all close to what I do, making me feel a tad idiotic. Idiotic for not asking Hatori if he knew a mazoku I could meet with—a whistle echoed within my mind and my body went rigid, my brain at a stand-still of thought. The whistle was not heard with ears, but something deeper… much deeper.
“The slayer has returned? A pleasure to meet you once more…”
The voice echoed throughout my mind, a cold and harsh voice. My eyes swiveled in their sockets, looking for the one who was speaking to me.
“What’s wrong? Has your savvy been cut by the same sword you used to end my sister?”
My hand twitched and my body loosened up. Apparently whatever trick used to contained me was wearing off.
“Ahhh, no surprise there. Well then, until the time is right, we won’t meet again. Enjoy your feeble life while my hands haven’t stripped it from that soul of yours.”
I had grown pale. This voice, this being had threatened my life and made me unable to move, yet I could not see him—or it—in my view. What kind of place was this world? I had decided to stay in the town, however. Mainly because this was day, and at night, the mazoku sleep and the ayakashi come out. Although my life may be in danger, I would not be scared from my original intent. Somehow, I found my way to an inn or some sort, where a mass of people would bathe together. Onsen, which I believe is translated into “hot springs”. Thought, I came to simply wait in my room until the sun fell.
Florescence illuminated the squared walls of the room I was in. I had left the sliding doors open so Luna could gaze unto me and wake me when the full night had come. My feet shifted and my legs straightened into a long stretch. Standing up, I approached the door and looked out, sliding on the large cloth I had, which was called a hakama.
Silence rang into my ears, giving me the meaning to “Silent Night”. Though by all prospects, this was not a holy night. Coming out of the inn’s property, the forest was only a moderate trot away. With the cover of night, I considered letting go all of my usual constraint of maintaining a harmless afacade. Tonight I would run and find one of those ayakashi.
The forest was calm and quaint, a slight breeze making the verdant parcel rumble and writhe with ecstatic delight. Native trees surged with branches from their trunks, every branch littered with their own tributaries, covered with green, wide, waxy leaves. Another breeze blew past, but not a natural one. A blur erupted from the cover of foliage to dive into more leaves, but oddly, silence still reigned over the forest. Ryker had cast away his constraint and was now flying through the trees in a blur, like a silver hawk after its prey. The moon still had its gaze on Ryker through it all, lighting his way through what would have been a complete darkness. The wind stopped, as did Ryker, his blank eyes scanning the vegetation. A long, shadowy tendril creeped across the ground and in no time at all, was snatched up as Ryker hit the forest floor with a soft pat. A simple weasel looking for a midnight snack. Ryker grunted and set the weasel down, the animal making a swift retreat back to its home.
“What are you looking for, boy?”
I looked around in search of the voice, sinister, dark, yet still felt with life.
“Tell me. I’m not hungry this night, sooo… you might be spared.”
My eyes scanned the area, but to no avail. Whoever was talking was also adept at hiding. I pondered the situation, and decided that a response would be best.
“I came to see an ayakashi and perhaps ask a couple questions.”
“Oh? An ayakashi! What would those questions be?”
“Questions only said when I meet your acquaintance.”
The earth started shaking and the trees started groaning in protest to the movement. Dirt shifted and tunneled, right next to Ryker a mound was beginning to form. The soil flowed like water down the mound as the dirt took shape. Ryker blinked in surprise as what looked to be a toddler had been carved from the sand. Slowly the sand shifted and started to get features, hair turning from earth to real hair and fair skin forming from bits of clay. A little girl stood in front of Ryker, long blonde hair swinging gently, her brilliant and dangerous-looking red eyes looking straight at him.
“Oh, my my! You ARE cute!” The little girl said, approaching Ryker in her complete nudity and wrapping her body around his left arm.
“Oh, my my! I can’t eat such a cute, cute, cute thing! But if it isn’t too much to ask, may I borrow something to cover myself with? If we’re seen, someone may get the wrong idea and think us unpure—“ the little girl went into a fit of giggles, and Ryker took off the hakama and wrapped her in it. His cheeks were red from embarrassment and the fact that he’d never been good with girls in the first place. He thought them odd creatures.
“Thank-you, cutie. I am called Noein, demoness of the sand. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Moon-Slayer, Ryker von Zephyrr.” The girl continued holding onto Ryker, her eyes looking deep ino his as she giggled uncontrollably.
“What? Is this form not to your interests? I had thought you might like them young but I could have been wrong…” She commented, pouting as she looked upon Ryker. Without warning, sand flowed along her body and she grew taller, meeting Ryker’s level of height. The body became more curvaceous and supple. Suddenly a soft, light weight was placed upon his arm. His cheeks flushed, his eyes staring as a suddenly large bosom was leaning upon him. The demoness’s face was the last to change, a matured woman looking at Ryker seductively.
“Does this suit your interests, Ryker-sama…? I’ve always wanted to meet you and someday become yours… it’s been a dream since I was but a tiny little demon. What’s the matter, my sweet? You’ve been silent this entire time…” The demoness said, her eyes blinking slowly as she looked upon the stunned, embarrassed man.
I couldn’t move.
This demoness suddenly appeared and attempt to seduce me, which she nearly did. This is the first time I’ve seen an ayakashi, but I can tell they are carnal creatures. I couldn’t speak from how hot I was feeling. Since being born, a female had never been this close to me. She asked why I wasn’t speaking, and an answer could not be given. My mind entered a state of emptiness, not knowing how to deal with the situation at all. Then a name was said. My mind worked on its own from there.
“Who is Ryker von Zephyrr? Who are you? What is a Moon-Slayer?”
The woman’s red eyes were in his gaze as she smiled slyly, letting him go and moving to be right in front of him.
“It’s you, Moon-Slayer. You are Ryker von Zephyrr. I am Noein of the Sand, the demon guard of this place. I was told by my mother that a fetching young man neither human nor ayakashi would run through my garden and seek me out. But, she never told me how attractive you were. It’s a shame it’s taboo to be intimate outside of species, because we would make this night one to celebrate, Ryker-sama…”
My mind was racing with thoughts. Neither human nor ayakashi? I’m not human? I’m not ayakashi? My eyes were blinded from the world as my queries spun before them, wondering what I’ve been wondering in such a grand bravado that I screamed it out without hesitation. The forest echoed with my call, my question that needed to be answered. I am Ryker von Zephyrr, Moon-Slayer, neither human nor ayakashi. Noein looked upon me in worry, my body fell limp, and my head hit the ground. Nothing seemed legitimate next to the question filling the void within my head.
“What am I?”
“You are me. I am you.”
“Who are you?”
“You of the past. The past where my life ended, now in the present where your life begins.”
“Why am I here?”
“The foolish ideas of humans sought to create a being with nothingness. My soul was made into your body. You are me. I am you.”
“How is that possible?”
“You are the Moon-Slayer. You destroyed the moon and created a new one to take its place. Anything is possible within your hands, as long as you wish it so.”
“I am Ryker von Zephyrr, Moon-Slayer.”
“Yes. Wake up, Grand One. Your demoness can only save you so much trouble.”
“What do you mean…?”
Light flooded back into my eyes. I was on the ground on my back, dirt covering my body from the wet ground. Noein was looking at me, then into the forest. Her eyes were worried. She was saying words, but I could not hear them. My legs were weak, my arms were weak. My head ached. My chest heaved in and out, new, fresh air flowing in and out of my lungs. My hands flexed with renewed strength and my arms hurt no longer. My legs felt nimble, quick. My eyes were filled with light, a power coursing through my body .
“—RUN MASTER RUN! HE COMES!” Noein yelled frantically, her voice strained and hoarse.
Ryker’s eyes scanned the forest, the darkness posing no threat to his sight.
A man was walking toward them. He wore the attire of a business man of Edo, an expensive suit of ornate design and attraction fitted upon his body in all its silvery gold glory. His eyes were bright yellow, and seemed to be staring directly at Ryker as Ryker was staring at him. The man’s hand flicked and a shadow filled the palm of his right hand, elongating and gaining a sinister edge. Black miasma flowed off the sword, trees dying as he went past them. Ryker stood solemnly, observing the man as he came to be directly in front of him.
“I see my magic has no effect on your anymore. A shame. I would have liked for you to be still while I gutted you. Now I have to waste my time chasing you.” The mazoku said, his features dark and evil as the blade let off its smoke of black miasma.
Ryker said nothing. He didn’t move from the spot, and Noein had long since gone for her own safety. This told him that this mazoku before him was indeed powerful. From what he had said, Ryker also pieced together it had been the one before that had trapped him so easily, binding his movements. He looked deep into the mazoku’s eyes and saw his own reflection, which terrified him.
Ryker’s hair now flowed down to his knees, naturally pulled pack and wildly kempt, its stark white color glowed brilliantly in the moonlight. His eyes were glowing white, white energy flowing from them like wisps of luminous smoke. Three horns grew from his head; two large horns grew from each side of his temple, a small horn half the size of the large ones grew right in the middle of his forehead. They glowed as well, shedding off the same light the moon so gracefully gave to him. Markings riddled his face and trailed down his body, letting off effervescent streams of pulsating energy that lit up the area like sparks from a lightning bolt. He then realized the truth.
He was Ryker von Zephyrr.
“Well, Moon-Slayer? Any last words?” The mazoku asked, smiling devilishly. His hand tightened up on the hilt of the demonic blade in his hand, malice filling the core of its ringing steel. Ryker said nothing once more. The demon-man let out a yell of rage as he lunged, blade in full swing as he tried to hew Ryker in half.
The blade hit, but did not do what the mazoku had wanted it to. It bounced harmlessly off Ryker’s skin, cutting the clothes he wore but not his body. The demon-man grew even angrier, hitting Ryker countless other times, attempting to hurt him at any cost. Not one hit did damage. The mazoku lunged, the sword’s tip going for his target’s eye, and the suddenly Ryker moved with inhuman grace. His hand came up fast than the demon’s lunge, his finger stopping the blade in its tracks.
“DAMN YOU!” The mazoku yelled, jumping back. His eyes were devoured in black energy, power sparking and coursing all throughout his body as blood spurted form his back, a pair of black wings shooting out. The mazoku’s body grew and distorted, rage forcing the mazoku to his demonic side and taking over his reason. The human half was no longer there, as a draconic demon stood before Ryker. Flames burnt the forest down around the two, the demonic dragon raging in malice and anger. Its screams filled the forest, its eyes centered on Ryker. It charged at Ryker until its face was directing in his, flames licking the Moon-Slayer’s face. Then, in the entire gravity of the situation, Ryker looks at the dragon, his eyes piercing through to the once-mazoku’s soul.
“No.” He said simply, walking backwards. Ryker jumped up with godly speed and strength, floating in the air as power fueled his flight. The dragon looked up and sucked in, blowing from its maw a gale of searing flames.
“I am Ryker von Zephyrr!” He said as he met the flames, diving down. His right hand extended as white light filled it and contorted, a gigantic curved blade morphing from the light. The angelic blade rang with a pure tone as it cut the air and flames, its sharp edge slicing the night. Ryker spun, the blade coming across over the body of the dragon. The sword disappeared immediately after, the dragon ceasing its fire-breathing. A deathly quiet has come about its existence.
Blood spurted and poured over the sand as the dragon fell over on its side in two pieces.
My eyes opened up to a kaleidoscope of different hues, light bursting into my eyes like coming out of a dark cavern. Blindness overtook me for but a second, deafness followed, followed by a feeling of unfeeling. Then I realized in one mutual aspect, I was not in the reality I had just been. My body had changed, my insides coursing with a heightened power not yet sensed within my body. Life. Life was all I could think of, all that ran through my head. Awakening. Awakening into the real life, my mind set at ease from the boring, servacious monotony of my days before this enlightenment. I was dreaming.
I remember the dream that happened that one night. Before me stood another of the exact build, the same eyes, but with power untold. He told me his words and I heeded them with full comprehension, and now today, I stand in his shoes. His blade, in my hand. His eyes, mine to behold the world through. His power, mine to control the world with. What am I? What is this place I float through in aimless journey? Then the realization hit me with such splendor, I saw stars in the field of my vision. I was within my mind.
“I see you’ve found yourself.”
What was that voice? That distant echo that reverberates within my ears and questions my nature. I’ve found myself?
“Though, you’re still an infant in my eyes. But a faint mirror of my true self.”
“And what of you? What makes you such a source?” I asked in defiance, blade thought to be in my hand.
But it wasn’t.
It was in his hand.
“Speak when you’re asked of, copy. I am such a source because while you are part, I am the whole you belong to. My soul still burns on, while you’re the part I’ve lost. My shell. Only briefly did I join with you.”
“Why?” I inquired fiercely.
The voice grumbled, a kind of flat remark that quelled my heart gently and set me in a state of knowing.
”Because that mazoku carried memories. Memories only I would have, the true soul. They called to me and I found you, the shell, and joined with you immediately. Luckily I had, otherwise, you would be quite dead.”
I pondered this idea slowly and soon came to realize he was correct. Or she. To be certain, I had not a inkling as to what gender the voice was. It was grand, commanding, and demanded utmost respect. A baritone rhythm that shook my body as it spoke. Suddenly, I felt whole. He spoke and explained to me in such a fashion that I understood it and certainly apprehended the knowledge.
I awoke once more in another strange land, like a dream surging from an intangible reality. On sudden impulse I looked up at the night sky, four heads of pure white staring directly at me. My blade quivered at my back as it was in my hand for but a moment, one of the heads severed in half, the others ran from fear a while after. Their reinforcement came from the horizon, a blazing ball of fire and brimstone. Then I knew from that day I had sliced a moon, not a man, and the sun cried its crimson-filled sky in sorrow.
Ryker traveled far and wide after this, searching for a way to wake up once more, searching for a way to sleep again. Reality awarded him with renown, with boasts, and with the guild of Fable. He stumbled into the oversized tavern and was amazed by the assortment of those here, and stayed, taking on bounty after bounty that had stayed there for more than three months.
He had made himself Ryker von Zephyrr.
Edit:
=3
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