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Lennon Legend's Bios
12.31.03, 21:21:17
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Post #1 (permalink) |
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Character Retired
Name Sarakon
Age Actual age Unknown, but has the physical appearance of a 25 year old
Class Damned Warrior King
Build Fairly heavy build, Sarakon has a tremendous physical presence but he is still quite agile and fast
Hair Shoulder length brown hair, his hair reaches down to just above his eyes, it doesn't look particularly scruffy but it doesn't look well groomed either.
Eyes Sarakon's eyes are pupil-less, the entirety of his eyes are a dull white tinted with yellow, sometimes depending on his mood the colour changes a little, during times of great anger or when Sarakon's exerting a lot of energy his eyes will flare with a burning red colour, but when he's feeling compassionate a pleasant blue will wash over them.
Clothes Sarakon is outfitted with a full suit of armour. Many plates and ridges run along the various section of the armour, the chest plate is of one piece construction, then around the lower torso there are many plates that hang around, connected by small rivets but allowing a bit of flexibility in the armour. The armour sports a stomach plate, a gold gilded edge runs along the side of this marble stomach plate and in the gold gilding is a small groove that runs along it and this groove glows a crackly red, like cooling lava might.
The stomach plate in its entirety, gilding included, drops down past the rest of the torso section to offer some protection to lower regions.
The stomach plate is made of marble and is black with a faint pattern running over it and with runes etched deeply into the edges, these runes sometimes glow with the same magma like appearance of the groove in the gilding, as do all the joints in Sarakon's armour. A collar of metal comes up from the chest on his armour to just below Sarakon's chin, on the front of this there's another plate, this is made of a silver coloured metal with a brushed look to it and also has strange runes scarred deeply into its surface.
To the sides of this collar there are spikes that come out of the armour, pointing slightly away from Sarakon diagonally outwards, more of these spikes run down his back, the largest ones come out of where his shoulder blades are situated and these are curved downwards slightly.
Atop his shoulders are heavy, thick shoulder guards, of 3 piece construction, all the plates begin in the same place, overlapping each other, then they flair out, the highest one flairs out at the greatest angle, and has a curved top to it, like an s shape with a lip on the end, each subsequent plate juts out further than the last and steps down in height. All three sections of the shoulder guards have a dull bronze gilding, with intricate metalwork patterns embossed into them.
His arms and legs are both donned in similar looking bits of armour, thick ridges overlap each other and then at joints like the elbows or knees the ridges curve off and end, upper arm or leg pieces are connected to their lower counterparts by chains forged in the depths of hell and the parts in those joints not covered by the armour is covered with a thin chain mail covering.
The chain mail beneath the armour has coverings attached to add extra protection to the knees and elbows and add to the overall style of the armour, these caps are also surrounded by a dark golden gilded edge.
Heavy duty bracers and greaves are riveted to his arms and lags, these also have a jagged gilded edge and an ornate metalwork pattern on the surface made of the gilding material, the main surface is marble, which is black with a firey tint of red to it, the surface of these plates is slightly reflective.
The greaves curve out at the bottom of his legs and go out a little over his feet.
Sarakon's armour shoes are made of many plates, the sole is constructed of about 20 different plates to allow manoeuvrability and has a rough grated surface on the bottom for grip, there are thick pointed toecaps at the ends and along the main parts of the foot and many ridged running along the width of the foot.
Heavy gauntlets protect Sarakon's hands, the ends of the finger tips of the armour are blunt, the gauntlets merge seamlessly into the ridged armour construction on the forearms.
On his back, you can see the spikes, and the collar of metal curves round and down ending as a point in between his shoulder blades, there are plates over the shoulder plates that hook outwards and downwards, these are of a rough texture, as are the spikes and have the cooling magma look to them.
There also two hooks on his upper back, to suspend his two weapons, sword and axe.
His spine is outlined with a column or ridged plates that run down until they reach the bottom of the torso section and merge with the plate structure of the rest of his torso armour.
Sarakon also has a helmet, but he doesn't usually wear it, this helmet has a mask like visor that conceals the upper half of his face, they only thing visible is his pupil-less eyes, and part of the helmet is a curved guard that covers the mouth, nose and the rest of the lower part of his face, the helmet is round at the top, but flairs out with a few plates to come down to meet the metallic collar, it is made of the same metal as the rest of the armour.
The colour of the metallic armour is a dull, matte black, with a slight tint of blue in places, it looks very heavy but doesn't seem to hinder Sarakon's movement at all. The metal has a slightly rough and dented texture to it, faint impressions can seen from heavy blows that were dealt in the past and you can see the marks left by the blacksmith's hammer when he made the armour and pounded out it's shape, these little depressions are faint and add to the overall character of the armour.
Weapons Sarakon's main weapon is the sword, Heretic, this sword was originally made in the land of mortals, a normal sword there, it served Sarakon well and hundreds of men were slain by it's blade, later on the sword's blade was reforged to strengthen it and the handle and hilt were replaced in their entirety, the new handle and hilt were crafted from the bones of the king Sarakon had once served but had murdered to usurp his throne...and even when Sarakon's story took him into the bowels of hell his blade refused to leave him, as if the lives they'd destroyed had inexplicably bound the two together, man and sword. Indeed there is a relationship between the two, a mutual need, the sword seems to need to kill and tear through the flesh of fresh victims and Sarakon needs the sword's strength. Sarakon discovered that during his time in hell the many souls of the damned grafted themselves to the blade filling it with a pure evil hatred and unholy strength, giving it a personality too, and these twisted souls desire for nothing more than the death of the living. The blade seems to grow stronger with every life it kills and Sarakon can feel the hunger within it for the deaths of the living, the twisted souls of the damned truly resent the living the living, understandable really after their aeons of punishment while the living wander around free in the mortal realm taking their freedom for granted without even the slightest care for these lost accursed souls and just as the souls hunger for death, Sarakon hungers for more power so he'll gladly satiate the appetite of his blade.
Heretic's blade is about one and a half feet thick and about 4 foot long, the sides are parallel for about 3 feet and then it rounds off and tapers to a point, the blade was strong enough before having the souls of the damned attach themselves to it but now the blade seems to contain a great energy, there's not many things it can't penetrate these days.
The sword's hilt is made of the scraggly bones of a dead King, bleached and polished, these various bones stick out in carious directions, ground down to points out the end, like a horrific arrangement of large fangs radiating outwards from a central point. This central point is where the King's skull is situated, his jaws bolted tight and the bone handle rammed in from underneath, the handle is also made of bones, it goes down at a slight s shape, another bone runs along the side to form a D shape, in the recess is where Sarakon hold the sword and where he hooks it onto his back, at the base of the handle a metal gem setting has been rammed into the bone and inside the setting is a burning Sapphire, which emits a dull red glow.
Sarakon also has a large axe he likes to use, this is his secondary weapon, this axe isn't infused with any evil energy, but it's still good for splitting skulls and the like.
The large battle axe's handle is made of thick and gnarled wood, with a metallic base which has been sculpted to have a similar appearance to the hilt of Heretic, this also has a recess in it for hooking onto Sarakon's back.
The blade of the axe is huge, and very heavy, but is fairly brittle and has been known to break from the force Sarakon has put into some of his attacks, so he regularly has to repair it.
Abilities Sarakon wasn't born with the ability to use magic like most were, in fact for a long time he had resolved himself to never use magic, he'd tried his hardest to call forth the power of the elements but even under the tuition of some of the greatest mages in the ranks of King Tarron's great army he still could not master it.
But one day he was sent out, a mass of the army's dark knights were to conquer another kingdom, the battle was a very bloody one and the enemy put up fierce resistance. All around him Sarakon saw his comrades being cut down, by the blades of the enemy and by their magic, Sarakon himself had been seriously injured in the fierce battle and the only thing that sustained him was his determination and his utter hatred for his enemy, he called upon this burning hatred inside for strength when he was on deaths door..and his call was answered, in an almost instinctual act of self preservation he released a powerful blast of magic, waves of fire whipped up around him and consumed the enemy ranks, evaporating their flesh and leaving nothing but charred, ashen skeletal remains...
From that day onwards Sarakon realised he could indeed harness the power of magic and he worked hard to master it throughout the many years of his life.
He's very capable of releasing all manner of low level elemental magic upon his foes at any time, although he does feel physically drained by this and becomes a little fatigued for awhile.
After sustaining a lot of injuries and having a burning rage build up within him he's capable of using much more powerful magic, usually this isn't out of choice, but a move made out of pure rage, and the effects of these attacks can be devastating and can be manifested in many different elemental and non elemental forms.
The majority of his magic, revolves around manipulating forces and physics to great effect, seeing as through control of the four fundamental forces, gravity, electromagnetism, strong and weak nuclear interaction, pretty much anything is possible.
Sarakon has learnt new things about his existence after death. By concentrating on the souls he could feel out in the distance, focusing on the way they seemed to reach out to him from some infinite place spanning huge distances instantly, he discovered the spirit nexus, a realm that spans all time and space in which physical, corporeal things do not exist. The spirit nexus is an empty land of souls, every spirit is linked through time and space in here...and through concentration, Sarakon has found he is able to change into a spectral form and enter the vast spectral nexus, instantly linked to every soul in existence he can feel them out and travel to them, spanning any distance in an instance....and then once he reaches a soul in the spectral nexus he can simple resume his physical form and materialise in whatever realm he needs to...However, changing his form like that requires extensive concentration, and so he lacks the ability to phase away to evade attacks in the heat of battle..
Other Abilities Sarakon is a low level telekinetic, his mind can control small, non-organic objects within a limited range, within that range he could manipulate these objects as he sees fit, but outside that range he has absolutely no power over them. The range for his telekinetic abilities is about an 8 foot radius about him and the objects have to be pretty light, swords and boulders are too much for his mind to control but a knife or a fist sized rock pose no such problems and can make nice little projectiles if they happen to be within his mind's grasp.
Sarakon possesses great physical Strength and agility and is a very proficient hand to hand fighter, of course he prefers to just stroll in and massacre great swathes of people with Heretic....
He’s well versed in many different forms of swordsmanship and he handles Heretic as if it were as light as a feather.
Since his time in hell Sarakon has become sensitive to the spirits of people, each spirit is different and they resonate with their own unique frequency in his mind, allowing him to track a foe with relative ease.
Personality Sarakon doesn’t have much of a personality these, back in his youth he was a very happy and kind man and would be the life and soul of every party.
But now he's just been totally overcome with his hunger for more power and strength, most of the people that talk to him usually end up dead as Sarakon feels he has no place for such distractions.
Despite his obvious evil, Sarakon is also capable of acts for the side of good, his code of conduct is the same as it was as a dark knight, women and children do not die, innocents will not be slain, of course lately Sarakon's become a harsher judge of just who is innocent, and should a woman attack him then he'll disembowel her just as he would anyone else. But he has been known to step in to protect children, Sarakon once saw a man beating his children out in a street at night, so of course Sarakon immediately cut his head off in front of his two sons and just walked off without saying a word. He's callous even in his acts of kindness.
Background Sarakon was born and raised in the Kingdom of Tarronia, strong from an early age he showed much promise and was quickly taken into the ranks of the Tarronian army of Dark Knights.
Too young to fight, he started as a mere cadet within the forces, but during training sessions he amazed his trainers, for even at the age of 16 he was fighting a level far beyond many veteran knights, he'd move with grace and speed, his specially forged sword Heretic striking surgically at his targets, there was a horrifying beauty to the ease with which Sarakon decimated his opponents, many of his sparring partners ended up seriously injured, having to have their intestines forced back in before having their torso's sewn back up and some even died.
His trainers' were quite horrified with his power, for even without magic he was almost unstoppable on the battlefield, but this just pleased the King Tarron even more.
King Tarron was not content with his relatively small kingdom, he wanted to conquer the surrounding lands but had always thought it impossible, but in Sarakon he saw a window of opportunity to expand his power.
And so Sarakon's training had ended, and the King made him a fully fledged Dark Knight, and on his first mission he had the honour of leading his fellow warriors out into battle.
This first battle was fierce, they had attacked the Kingdom of Iiryvan, which was heavily defended by mage warriors. Sarakon saw his comrades being mown down around him, as he himself took serious damage.
The carnage around him pushed his anger to unknown heights and at long last he was able to unleash magic, a tremendous wave a fire leapt out and swallowed the remaining enemy soldiers.
Iiryvan was the strongest of the surrounding Kingdoms and when word spread of its conquest the other kingdoms surrendered quickly.
But the King wasn't done yet, his lust for power would never be satiated and the more he gained, the more he wanted...so the Empire of Tarron reached out further across the lands of the world and Sarakon fought countless battles for his King, but as time went on he grew more and more bitter about it all, while earlier on he'd fought with pride, blindly following his King's orders, with time he'd grown wise enough to realise the King wasn't a good man, nor a good ruler and while Sarakon continued to follow orders, inside a hatred for his King began to fester away...But also he harboured some envy of the King, Sarakon wanted his power, he felt if he were King he could do a better job.
So when there was a revolution, an uprising of people around the world all trying to overthrow King Tarron, Sarakon decided to side with the rebels, and in the climax of a bloody civil war Sarakon cut his former King's head off with heretic, ridding the land of the tyrant.
Well after that there was a void of power, there needed to be some authority figure, and the law of the land was that a kingdom should go to the strongest in the land, and there were none as mighty as Sarakon, and none that were willing to challenge him when he claimed the mantle of King as his own.
For awhile a time of peace ensued under the benevolent King Sarakon, but he grew tired of it and realised just how utterly boring peace is, he began to desire more land and more people under his control..so under the corrupting touch of power he became just what he had hated..
But the people revolted a lot sooner this time round, the conquered Kingdom's all rose up at once, all people were unified against Sarakon's rule and they stormed his castle to kill him.
Sarakon rode out on a large black horse to meet the rebels, Heretic hung down by the powerful steed's side he charged into battle.
He fought for hours, killing many of the rebels, but he was doomed from the start and ultimately he fell to the forces amassed against him...Sarakon was slain that night...
He awoke, reborn in a land of agony, a burning searing place of infinite torture, he had been reborn into hell.
It wasn't a spiritual existence as many believe but another plain of physical existence, aside from that it was just as you'd picture hell, the fire and brimstone, the twisted demonic figures..and the agonising torture..
Indeed, the first thing Sarakon was aware of in this realm was a large demonic figure thrusting him down onto a large stalagmite, impaling him through his stomach.
Around him others shared this fate, seemingly paralysed and unable to fight it, but Sarakon had learnt to endue pain, he'd never been a quitter in life, he wouldn't be one in death either.
Sarakon forced himself off the stalagmite, and despite the pain from his wound, upon discovering Heretic in place hooked on his armour, his first act was to punish the demon that had impaled him, and the others that were in there too, he turned his full wrath onto the forces of hell, and he caused so much trouble that they had to cast him out, back into the land of the living.
He was a little dismayed that his rampage against the demons that littered the land of hell was interrupted, but he was pleased to find himself free of that wretched place.
Sarakon wasn't sure just how long he'd been there, but his time in that evil place had left its mark on him, his pupils were pools of white, it seemed that hell had touched him physically, marking him as one of the damned and evil beings of the world, even his armour now seemed to resonate an evil presence about it, a burning hellish glow emanating from the joints...
Sarakon liked his reborn form, he had undergone an increase in power, and he had become sensitive to spiritual energy as a being of the "dead"..and out in the world he could sense some incredibly strong spirits...
So now Sarakon roams the earth searching out these strong beings, hoping to find a way to claim that power as his own, or to destroy it so that it won't stand in his way.
He's an enemy of heaven for his evil deeds in life, an enemy of hell for his refusal to accept punishment in death, and Sarakon utterly detests the living, they put him into hell after all... |
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Bastard
Last edited by Lennon Legend : 02.09.04 at 13:18:09.
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Last edited by Lennon Legend : 03.05.04 at 10:39:34.
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The Reaper
Contrary to popular belief, the reaper is very much a mortal man, not a skeletal ghoul garbed in black robes but a man not too different to you or I, except he is one of the chosen.
Chosen to serve the divine council of the Gods, the reaper is tasked with harvesting the souls of the dead, sending them on their way through the river Styx when their lifetime has expired. “Death by natural causes”, that’s the reaper’s line of work. Taking the soul’s of those that have had their time, so that they can at last go onto the realms beyond, maybe to eventually be reborn into the realm of life.
But all souls must make this journey of life and death, even the reaper himself cannot escape the harvest, after one thousand years in service he too falls to the sickle and his soul is permitted to enter the grandest of heavens.
But who harvests the souls after that? The divine council claims a new reaper every thousand years, for you see there’s not been one single reaper. Throughout the history of the realms there has been countless reapers to harvest the souls of the dead and keep the cosmic machine in order, but how does the council decide whom to claim as their angel of death? As strange as it sounds, there’s always somebody out there in the realm of life that is dead inside already, someone who has grown tired of the gift of life. The omniscient deities claim this soul and make the being their new reaper, so that he might learn respect for life in bringing death. The reaper’s service is ultimately rewarded, but the existence is considered a punishment, a penance for their lack of gratitude.
Which brings us to our newest Reaper. A man who’s life was to be long and full of potential. A man who took that time for granted and cut it down to less than half when he tied a noose around his neck and leapt from his bedroom window, hanging himself. The other details of his life are unknown to him, the depression that led up to his suicide is a haze in the back of his mind, but these details are unimportant at the moment. As soon as his soul left his cold body swaying in the gentle breeze, the divine council claimed it.
Brought before the Gods themselves, the 1000-year covenant of the reaper began again and the endless cycle continued. It’s not as if the poor soul had any choice in the matter, he had fallen for the illusion of escape that popularly surrounds suicide and as a result he had found himself inside a prison.
But this prison had no bars. The punishment of the Gods came with some perks and the divine council bestowed him with the powers he’d need to travel the realm of the living and harvest their souls, and the power to deal with those that would not come willingly. But they took his memories, his identity is a mystery to him and though slowly it comes back to him he has been left with next to nothing aside from the unpleasant task of taking lives day in day out, condemned to a heinous existence for a thousand years.
Appearance
The reaper looks rather timid and unthreatening, like any normal man in his twenties. He has short brown hair and brown eyes, a soft face and pale skin. He has a slim build and isn’t quite what one would deem as muscular and in his neatly ironed black trousers and light blue shirt he hasn’t a chance of looking intimidating.
Abilities
The divine council of the Gods have blessed the reaper with their power, as well as cursing him in the same breath with a thousand years of death.
-The River Styx
The reaper has full permission by word of the Gods themselves to travel the waters of the River Styx, to make his way to any soul with the aid of the boatman Charon. When he finds the soul in the great river, he will enter the murky depths. Submerged in a river of souls by the will for the Gods his form will travel to the realm of the living and to the soul that he is to reap.
Should the reaper meet with any unfortunate mishaps while out on business, his body will wash up on the riverside of the Styx, for there is no release from the reaper’s contract and no true death until the thousand years are served in full.
-Elemental control
Every single God has donated some power to the reaper of souls, he can manipulate all the elements in whatever way he pleases, but not quite on as grand and cosmic a scale as the Gods themselves although it’s still safe to say he can pack quite a serious punch.
-Harvest
The power to take life, the touch of death is an integral part of the reaper's job. But to reap a soul isn’t as easy as one might think, even with the power of the Gods at his disposal, life is still a formidable force itself and one that will fight tooth and nail to stave off death for as long as possible. But when a soul is weakened, it may at last give in to death and then the reaper can at last harvest it, simply by drawing the soul from a being’s heart and escorting it to the river Styx. |
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Name
Morkrall Dalarion
Age
578
Appearance
This demon is known to have many forms, so many in fact that no one is certain which, if any, is his true form. It is said he will only reveal his true form to those he considers worthy enough.
A form Morkrall has been known to use frequently is his human one, in which he stands at a height of five foot and nine inches in a body of timid build. From his head dangles hair as black as a fallen star and the wiry strands are long enough to reach halfway down his back. His black hair, along with his dark blue eyes contrasts massively against the pale complexion of his skin.
Although he doesn’t actually wear clothes of any kind, to further aid him in blending in with the humans around Morkrall uses the mastery of his own form to twist and shape his own flesh into an emulation of human clothing approximating the appearance of thick leather bracers wrapped around his hands and forearms, a short sleeved black cotton shirt, loose trousers of a similar hue and a leather jacket that reaches down to just beyond his waist.
Abilities
His demon blood makes Morkrall a strong being by nature, but as well as his natural physical traits he has a few extra abilities that he uses to great effect.
Shape Shift
With focussed thought, Morkrall can change his appearance and with it his physical capabilities. Some transformations require less effort than others, Morkrall will have no difficulty alternating between a human form and his true form, nor will altering a single limb pose much difficulty. However, a transformation on a larger scale, increasing his body mass and density while altering his shape for example, will require far more effort on Morkrall’s part and he may not be able to sustain the transformation for very long.
Vrilak
Magic, or Vrilak as it’s known in Morkrall’s native tongue is the demon’s most potent ability and he is highly skilled in several variations of Vrilak power.
-Weather control
Morkrall uses powerful Vrilak to command the elements; at his will the wind can suddenly pick up to violent speeds and unnatural storms of hail, snow and rain can brew overhead in a matter of minutes under his control.
Morkrall has also displayed a limited ability to control this power in a more sophisticated way, like selectively veiling a single area in thick fog or directing rainfall to a single point.
-Fire Manipulation
Although the demon lacks the power to create fire by the power of his mind alone, when a flame is present his Vrilak allows him to take full control of it, making it grow and change at his every whim.
-Earth Vrilak
The Vrilak Morkrall is most skilled in; he is lord over the land and at his command, through extensive concentration it will change as he sees fit.
Weapons
-The staff of Lattron
An ancient magical weapon, the staff of Lattron appears at first glance to be nothing more than a blackened wooden stick and for all intents and purposes that’s all it is. Only this staff was crafted from a tree on a twisted nightmare world that few have had the misfortune to stumble upon and even fewer dare to speak of. All trees are alive, but the tree this clump of wood was torn from was alive in a totally different sense, it was a sentient creature, blood flowed within it and thoughts and feelings bore away beneath the bark. Blood still flows within the staff, which still seems to twist and contort as if alive, and in this blood is the same power present throughout the entire nightmare world.
Perhaps in lesser hands this living weapon might turn against its master, but Morkrall has mastered the weapon and its power is his to wield. Through steady concentration and the channelling of a special kind of Vrilak, Morkrall can force quantities of the twisted, tainted power out of the veins within the staff and expel it as a blast of pure energy.
Of course the energy needs to be replenished every once in a while or else the staff will die and lose its usefulness, but there are plenty of nutrients in the soil around for the staff to feed on, as well as other, less pleasant materials for replenishing the power of the staff.
-Heretic
-Physical Description
Heretic's blade is four inches wide and four foot long, the sides are parallel for about 3 feet and out of them stick sharp and jagged protrusions that get smaller in regular intervals as you progress further along the blade. Towards the end of the blade’s length it rounds off and tapers to a point. The combination of superb craftsmanship and otherworldly power has made Heretic incredibly strong and nigh on indestructible. The sword's hilt is made of the scraggly bones of the ancient ruler of a land called Tarronia, King Tarron. Bleached and polished, these various bones stick out in various directions ground down to sharp points at the ends, like a horrific arrangement of fangs radiating outwards from a central point. This central point is where the crest of the Tarronian nobility and the symbol of the Tarronian nation has been placed, carved from a dark metal and gilded with strips of colour that once vividly depicted the two images but have now faded with age. Below the arrangement of bones and the crests is Heretic’s handle, a strong cylinder of the same dark metal used in the blade’s construction, many intricate carvings adorn this part of the hilt, adding an ornate look to the sword but also making it easier to grip. At the handle’s base a metallic gem setting has carefully been fixed and within it resides a deep blue gem, another symbol of the monarchy’s power.
-Background
After abandoning his post on Laverniath and resigning from his position in hell’s army, Morkrall spent a lot of his time drifting around the pubs of the realm only to find much talk about a human soul that had escaped damnation. Amidst the rumours and stories of the soul of this powerful Dark Knight, the newest enemy of heaven and hell and the tales of his past there was also talk of the weapon that he kept by his side, the broadsword known as Heretic.
None of these stories interested Morkrall in the slightest, not at first. But time went on, and more and more stories were told and at the centre of each story was that broadsword.
Supposedly it possessed much power, Morkrall wouldn’t believe until he’d seen it for himself, however, if the rumours proved to be true it seemed foolish to allow a mortal to hold so much power, when he himself could benefit greatly from it. If the sword was only half as powerful as all the talk suggested it would still do a fine job of evening the odds for him in his campaign against the agents of “light”.
So Morkrall travelled to the mortal realm, and he followed this Sarakon for some time, watching him from a distance, hiding his presence from the Dark Knight’s spirit.
A number of battles proved all the talk to be true, Morkrall rejoiced and cursed these revelations. Heretic was more power than he could have dreamed of, but because of that there was no way he could simply take it from Sarakon.
It seemed fate had dealt Morkrall a cruel hand, until one day, during a particularly fierce battle; Sarakon foolishly cast Heretic away and sealed it within the spectral nexus, the world between worlds, believing it to be safe.
It was a simple task for a walker of realms to enter the nexus and steal Heretic from its depths, and with the task complete Morkrall’s determination, power and confidence have all been revitalised.
Background
A figure stood tall, perched atop a high balcony, one of many that jut out of the walls of the old and dilapidated castle situated in the heart of Laverniath. This figure watches over the Kingdom from up here, sickened by what he sees.
Below his brothers scuttle along the ground, they feast on human remains like jackals would shamelessly rip the flesh from the carcass of some long dead animal. The scavengers vary drastically in appearance from one another, some are insectoid in appearance, bulky and possessing huge armoured and multi jointed bodies, others are more humanoid in appearance, some are small, some are huge. From high above the figure that looks down on them sees them all in the same light.
In disgust he turns away from the balcony and enters the interior of the castle, leaving the filth outside to ravage their meal. His claws grip at the edges of the door’s frame as he ducks his head to allow his large form to pass into the interior, deep scratch marks are left imprinted in the wooden frame where his lengthy claws scrape past.
The castle throne room remained unchanged from the day he and his brethren had arrived. The dim noon twilight filtered through a hole in the wall, filled with glass adorned with scrapes and cracks, casting a red light over what had been a grand and exuberant hall for the Lavernian monarchs a few years ago. The light shows a table overturned, the cloth atop it torn and in tatters, cutlery, candelabras, plates an bowls lay strewn across the floor. A crown lay still in the corner, dented; an elaborate painting hangs at an awkward angle on the wall, walls coated with blood that had dried long ago.
In this long dead chamber, he sits upon one of the thrones, though it barely manages to accommodate his form. The multitude of eyes that cover his body shut in unison, with a moment of concentration the beast’s body shrinks and twists, chitin turning to flesh, eyes descending into skin and disappearing from sight, hair growing rapidly from a head that swiftly changes shape, looking more and more human with each passing second.
He tries to sit in the throne again, this time it proves to be no problem and he lays back in it, resting an elbow on his thigh and drawing a hand to his face to brush his long black hair to one side before placing the hand at his chin, assuming the pose of the thinker.
It never changes.
Stationed on these pathetic, lifeless worlds, day in day out to accomplish nothing! Hundreds of years of my life, wasted away killing these pathetic creatures. This is no way to win the war, this is no life for a soldier, and yet my orders are always the same.
It never changes.
We never achieve a thing.
From outside the various beasts could be heard letting out a harmonious, frenzied cry. The “man” sat upon the throne panned his head to the right, gazing out at the sky with his blue eyes before shaking his head with disgust and letting out a sigh.
“They must have found another scrap of flesh.”
He said, finding himself the only voice of intelligence on the entire world with all its old inhabitants dead. Most of them anyway, the remaining stragglers that hid away were being mopped up with each passing day as per their orders.
And then onto the next boring world to achieve absolutely **** all yet again.
It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy the killing, on the contrary, he took great pleasure in each life he ended, but to him at least it would be far more enjoyable to kill and inflict pain in a way that would benefit him.
We’re never going to win the war like this, we need to destroy the ****ing enemy, not pussy about like this.
Two of the major realms had been at war for a long time, those of “heaven” and “hell”. The conflict had started out small, with only a few battles being fought here and there, but after centuries of warfare it had started to spill out into the mortal realm.
A general in one of “Hell’s” many armies, Morkrall Dalarion wanted to fight “heaven’s” opposing forces head on, to amass a huge army and take their land in one feel swoop in a show of force. His superiors were too scared to follow that course of action, claiming it was too risky. Instead they were to take the planets of the mortal realm, one by one, harvesting the souls present and building their forces until the day they were strong enough for such an assault to work.
Bitter, Morkrall obeyed the orders of his superiors all the same. But he maintained the belief they were simply wasting time, his bitterness grew and grew over centuries, and the respect he once had for his superiors turned to disgust. Powerful and ambitious, he always sought for a way to break free from his mundane position, and lead the assault he had proposed so long ago.
Yet still he was there on Laverniath, following those same cowardly orders.
Surely, after all these years we have the strength to satisfy those cowards, strength enough to go to war properly.
With this thought in his mind, in the blink of an eye Morkrall vanished from the throne room and left Laverniath behind.
He appeared in a beautiful courtyard, lined with a huge array of assorted flowers, in the courtyard’s centre was a circular patch of lush, green grass, and in the centre of this was a water fountain that could be heard trickling away, giving the quiet place a tranquil, serene air to it.
From the courtyard, a number of pathways led off, to different doorways and to different realms. Some doors were barred by huge locks and chains, these were the realms that Morkrall could not walk, for whatever reason, but the other realms were like open doors to him, accessible at any time.
Morkrall chose the door that lay beyond the fountain, up a small set of steps and on a higher plateau. On his way he crossed paths with some of his subordinates, who were busy references charts and maps to figure out what door they should go through. The two inept soldiers saluted Morkrall, Morkrall ignored them.
His fingers wrapped around the door’s handle and gently pushed at it, swinging the door open easily despite it’s huge size; twenty feet high by nine feet wide.
In an instant he left the myriad of doorways behind and found himself back in “hell”, such is the power of a walker of the realms.
He appeared in a room full of his peers and superiors who were all gathered at a huge oval shaped table, it seemed like he’d arrived in the middle of a board meeting.
To his left he heard murmurs of disapproval; it was customary for one to assume their true form when in the presence of their peers and superiors as a sign of respect. Morkrall sat at the table, still in his human form, he reasoned that since they did not have his respect; he needn’t bother changing forms on their account. They didn’t deserve his respect or his true form.
Most of the meeting passed without Morkrall paying any attention to it, until at least, with a certain hint of anger in his voice, one of the beings gathered asked,
“And do you have any business, Morkrall?”
“Well, since it has been several hundred years since I first proposed an all out assault and actually do something in this war, I was wondering if you were actually ready to do it yet.”
More murmurs of disapproval.
Gutless
After much conferring between themselves, the head of the table turned to him, Morkrall left before he even spoke. He knew what was coming, more excuses, and more cowardice. They could take his absence as his resignation, Morkrall decided that the animals that ate scraps of flesh on Laverniath could waste as much of their time as they wanted, but he wasn’t going to spend another second following stupid orders.
If they’re too gutless to get any real work done, I’ll do it myself |
Last edited by Lennon Legend : 06.10.04 at 20:27:06.
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Damn, this one's starting to show it's age xD
Drakinia |
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What can I possibly criticize on Morkrall, Simon?
You've started trying to make more technical characters lately Simon, i'm wondering if they'll suit you... I think one of the things that awes me as a roleplayer is your skill at manipulating the area around you, and so in this way, I think you'll have tons of fun with Morkrall. But as this remains to be seen, I can't pass comments...
The fact Morkrall is a tall bastard and old, is rather strange, but seems to fit him I guess... The hunched bit does a good deal at describing his age...
Ummm.... I'm lost for words man, what the hell did you expect me to criticize? All you need to do is go into a bit more detail on everything and he'll be just as good as Sarakon I think... But hopefully you don't take the same approach with this character as you did Drakon xD |
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