It’s probably just my over-inflated ego talking at the moment, but I reckon I'm gonna kick his... *spares a glance for the Mods and their pathetic little rule* *ahem* ...'butt'. Now, trash talking aside, let's move onto the rules.
Name: L’Morte Damesious, but is also known by the title of Dragonslayer and by those who serve him as the White Knight. In a previous life, he was known as Tristan Morrigan.
Age: He died at the age of 24, and has since lived as a one of the Mosfaru for over 500 years.
Species: The Mosfaru, as they call themselves, and also known by other races as the Deathspawn.
Home World: Was once the planet Rhebes, but became the planet Enalius after he became a Mosfaru.
Appearance (Physical): Mosfaru retain the majority if not all of the physical attributes of the creatures they once were, although there are a few noticeable differences. The most noticeable is the skin. The skin is usually extremely discoloured, giving them a very pale complexion that is somewhat reminiscent of a vampire. All Mosfaru also share the same coloured hair, as dead and lifeless as their pale grey skin, and black, opaque eyes that give the feeling to any soul unfortunate enough to gaze into the eyes of a Deathspawn a feeling of despair, with the feeling that their mind, body and soul are sinking into the endless depths of oblivion.
However, unlike most Mosfaru, there are the select few with L’Morte being a prime example who, having proved themselves on the field of battle are granted a lease of life by the Enalius which has been branded the ‘mark’, making those who earn it ‘marked ones’. This mark is in fact an evolution of the Mosfaru. It grants those worthy of the mark a few albeit power magical properties of a kind few have ever witnessed, and none survived. However, the strain of even containing this magic within a frail body can have a few adverse side-effects. It can cut off several senses upon contact and wear away the most of the rest with time. Not only that, but it also cuts the skin into small pieces that are seemingly held together by nothing. This leads to a large amount of blood loss during the first few days and can prove fatal to the marked one. If the marked one manages to survive, the cuts will eventually heal into filthy brown scars giving the Mosfaru an uncanny resemblance to a walking jigsaw, held together by invisible bonds and giving a rather frightening appearance.
Aside from the usual irregularities of the Mosfaru, L’Morte cannot taste or speak, as his mouth has been sealed shut (connecting the skin below his lower lip and upper lip together, thereby sealing it shut) due to the overwhelming power of the Enalius magic. Thankfully, though, Mosfaru do not need any form of nourishment to survive other than air to breathe.
Appearance (Clothing): Although there are no rules set in stone for the dress code of the Mosfaru (and certainly not for a marked one, who are usually given free reign when it comes to trivial matters such as this), the Mosfaru are most definitely a warring people, paying little to no heed to negotiations, diplomacy or anything of the sort. Therefore, it is encouraged that all people wear at all times some form of armour or military dress. L’Morte, although free of the gentle tyranny of the Enalius, has seen no reason to think differently. He seldom removes his ivory plate armour, made from raw diamond sandwiched between two plates of pure steel squeezed so tight together they have been near enough fused, making his armour all but impregnable to conventional firearms. He has even been known to withstand a direct shot from artillery fire and withstand the claw of the Queen of Dragons herself. Seeing no need for any embroidery of any kind, as it would only get in the way in battle and could possibly cost him his life.
Weapon: A 7ft long Halberd that was made in much the same way L’Morte’s armour was constructed. The shaft, however, was made with flexibility in mind, and so is not as dense as the axe head and so makes the weapon much more difficult to use, but allows L’Morte to use the weapon with flexibility that could only be topped by a whip. The axe head, constructed with the wielder in mind, was modelled after one of his greatest accomplishments: his victory over the great Queen of Dragons, Shequah. The cutting blade was crafted in a delicate manner until perfection, with a giant Dragon wing that was almost a metre in diameter becoming the fruit of the labours.
A blade of this size and weight on a thin flexible shaft seems like a blacksmiths nightmare, but the weapon was crafted with such attention and care that the makers, undoubtedly masters of their craft, managed to negate weight of the blade by having it focused towards no particular point on the weapon and, in turn, making it easier to wield overall. L’Morte who, upon witnessing the blade, was overcome by its craftsmanship, decided upon naming it after the late Queen of Dragons. Due to how large the weapon is, however, it lacks a holster meaning L’Morte must carry it with him wherever he goes.
Abilities: Although most of L’Morte’s abilities stem from what he is, there are a few abilities contained within him that no other Mosfaru could even dream of accomplishing. However, I think it best if I go into more detail as to what the Mosfaru are capable of.
Resurrection/Conversion: The most well-known trait of a Mosfaru, and quite possibly the sole reason for which they are feared and hated and is the major reason the Mosfaru have been so successful in conquering so many galaxies and subjecting so many people. Any fallen creature, whether it has been dead for centuries or seconds, whether it is as small as a mouse or as large as an Elephant, can be brought back by any Mosfaru and transformed into a Mosfaru in the process. This is possible due to the strange but potent magic of the Enalius. She does this through forcing one of her many servants to make physical contact with the target. Anything from the slightest touch to a full embrace will do. This will have to be maintained for at least a few seconds before the Enalius can apply her magic. The process may take more or less time, depending on how large the target or targets are, with the average human being taking only 10 seconds. The effect spreads from the point of every, changing or creating the skin into hat of the Mosfaru along the way until the creature has been fully converted. The target retains all physical and mental abilities they had at the time of death as well as the power of the Mosfaru that comes with it. However, these people are nothing more than empty vessels. Although the mind and body return, the soul, which is forever connected to the host, is not returned. Instead, it is consumed by the Enalius to prolong her life and preventing the newly converted Mosfaru from breaking free of her grip. However, the rules are different for a marked one. Not only can they control any and all Mosfaru they resurrect, but they do not need to make physical contact with the target, instead only having to be within a particular radius, usually 50 to 75 metres (due to L’Morte’s accomplishments for the Enalius, however, he has been given enough power to raise all of the dead within a square mile, although it would take him hours, perhaps even days to accomplish such a feat. However, any creature they resurrect automatically has its soul sent to the Enalius. For the Enalius, any dead creature on her home planet is almost instantly converted regardless of its scale; such is the control over the magic of her species. There are several ways, however, to break free of her mind-control. If the resurrection is completed but the soul consumption is not, the mind, body and soul of the target is resurrected as they once were. However, due to the fact that it only takes about 10 seconds for an average creature and due to the trademark viciousness of the Mosfaru, this has not become a problem as of yet.
Modification: A somewhat overlooked factor by most other races that have to deal with the Deathspawn is that, during the resurrection process when the Enalius is reassembling the broken tissues of a dead creature through the magic of her dead race, she alters their physical prowess enhancing speed, endurance, power and stamina, increases their intelligence thereby making them braver, much wiser, more cunning and no longer have a sense of right and wrong, so that only her word is law. She also, and most disturbingly of all, takes advantage of every creatures sexual motives and preferences. She has each and every one of her species infatuated with her to the point of obsession, making it easier to tell them what to do and preventing any kind of mutiny. Not only that, but any and all creatures revived not only have a love of death, murder and destruction, but fantasise about their own physical, mental and emotional pain. The Enalius then takes advantage of the lust they feel when acting out any of these and pours every ounce of energy from it into the battle, meaning that for every bit of damage they dish out, every blow they receive and for every life they end; they only want to fight harder, better and deadlier. They are moulded into the perfect army in every conceivable way. All this helps in a small way to negate some of the many adverse marked effects, but it cannot wholly stop the process. There is no known method of doing so for any creature other than the Enalius.
The Soul of Shequah: The Queen of Dragons L’Morte faced off against was his crowning glory. None can deny that. However, the Queen did not simply die, as both the Enalius and L’Morte had thought, but had passed its soul into L’Morte’s body, which had remained an empty vessel since his soul was consumed. Even to this day it still inhabits his body, always attempting to take control of the host but never fully succeeding due to the endless interference of the Enalius. Both are constantly engaged in a war contained within the mind of L’Morte for possession of the body: Shequah so she can continue to exist in the mortal plane and the Enalius so she can once again regain control of her greatest warrior. The constant fighting within his mind has given L’Morte a lease of life the Enalius would never allow him to have. The endless turmoil has allowed him to be free from the mind-control of the Enalius and from Shequah although this has had an adverse effect on his fighting capability, which has been severely hampered by the presence of two so very powerful individuals in his mind. There have been occasions, though, when a fight got too tough for L’Morte to deal with on his own that both the Enalius, who does not wish to lose her prized warrior and Shequah, who does not yet wish to leave for the land of the dead, have both united and aided L’Morte in any way they can, although the true extent of the power both together could give to him has not yet been revealed, but it could very well be possible that if he were to reach his absolute full potential, he could destroy entire planets if he so wished. Also, through his short yet helpful conversations with Shequah, he has managed to learn and wield a small amount of Dragon Magic, although he is still as of yet only a trainee in the art, and could never hope to use it effectively in battle until he was properly versed.
Personality: The conflict between the Enalius and Shequah has given a new L’Morte a chance to rise from the ashes of his former self, although he seems in no hurry to change from his former ways as a bandit. Smooth-talking and arrogant, he would be cocky if he didn’t have the power to back up his claims and never passes up on a chance to get what he wants with as little effort as possible. However, you should not let this gentle facade fool you. Due to the earlier influence of the Enalius, he will kill, maim, brutalize and destroy without a second thought just for the hell of it.
Biography: It all began before L’Morte, who had been christened Tristan at birth, had made his first steps, before he had been born, even before his world had been created. It all began on the planet of Kii, 12 million years before Tristan’s planet had even begun to form. On the large planet of Kii there resided a very strange but alluring creature; a race capable of reanimating its dead in an instant, and transforming every living creature around it into their own personal and eternal slaves. These strange, wonderful and immensely powerful creatures named themselves the Enalius, after the god they worshipped. They believed this god of theirs had been the one to grant them the power to control any creature they wished, and also believed this God wished them to use their powers for not only the good of their planet or the creatures on it, but for the good of the entire universe. To this end, they refused to practice the ‘evil’ side of their powers, and chose not to transform the other inhabitants of their world into their slaves or alter their minds in any way, but instead only choose to revive back whenever they earned it. It meant that the world’s great, noble leaders, their wise men and their wonderful entertainers would never die. They would never leave the world they had made their mark on. No creature even so much as approached extinction. All lived in peace and happiness. It was something straight out of a fairy tale. All was fine, of course, until one of these creatures, a young female known as Tesimi was born.
Tesimi had always felt that she was born for great things, knew she was destined to become a great person. She pushed herself to the limits of her knowledge, reviving any creature that so much as passed her by. These actions, her elders appreciated and even encouraged. They did not however, appreciate never mind encourage her morals. She felt that, if her species had the power, they should use it. That they should take control of everything, and envisioned that she would be the one to do it. Her elders dismissed this as a childhood fantasy, most of the time. However, all this changed when Tesimi took a full dive into the ‘evil’ side of her races power. She consumed the soul of a small bird she had found run over and ordered it to kill a young boy at school who had been bullying her. The repercussions were so swift and brutal that Tesimi found herself rotting a prison cell in less than a day. The public outcry was unbelievable. They demanded the immediate release of the young girl, who had been clearly upset when a young man hit her and couldn’t have meant for the bird to kill him. A mob, led by Tesimi’s parents, was formed in less than a week. Well, it could hardly be called a ‘mob’, as it numbered in the hundreds of thousands. The feeble military never stood a chance as the mob, growing in numbers even as they moved stormed past like the army of darkness, lay waste to the prison and freed Tesimi. Although this was the most sudden and brutal uprising it the history of the race, it was not over yet.
The years went by and Tesimi, now a flourishing young woman, was still consuming the souls of creatures. Her powers seemed to grow with every soul consumed, allowing her to eat more, faster and amass an army of gigantic proportions. Of course, this army was kept secret to the rest of her kind. She had them keep to the shadows at all times while she practiced her powers, adding and adding until it was impossible to keep them secret any longer. She had even begun to drag the dead of her own kind from out of their graves and subject their souls, minds and bodies to her whim. Even now, she had become the most powerful among her race and hadn’t even so much as scratched the surface of her potential. Eventually, she declared war on every living thing on her planet that was not serving her.
It was a massacre. In less than 10 minutes, she had almost total control over every thing that had lived and was living in the planet. Not only that, but she had consumed enough souls to last hundreds upon thousands of years. She had become as close to an immortal being as a mortal could ever come, and still she was not satisfied. Her planet, which she had now named after her race, had begun to gather attention from other races throughout the galaxy. There was nothing to stop this young empress from declaring war on the entire galaxy and winning. They had to stop her before it was too late… but… was it already too late?
Tesimi, who had not only named her planet after her people but now also herself, was not idle while the rest of the galaxy made plans for her demise. Her people needed no food, no rest and no water. They could work for weeks, months even, none stop. She commanded them to build her an armada and a palace in which to reside, and there she stays to this day, leaning upon her diamond throne in a lax position whilst her mind is always at work. It took only 5 months for 30,000 intergalactic ships to be made. That was twice the amount of the entire galaxy’s armada’s combined into one. There is no reason to explain any further the results of that conflict. Suffice it to say that the alliance against the Enalius failed miserably, and that an entire galaxy was enslaved to her will in 5 years. It was during this time that, on a planet on another galaxy, momentarily far away from any danger posed from the Enalius or her unstoppable army of creatures, which she named the Mosfaru (after the god her people had worshiped) on a small planet called Rhebes, a young boy named Tristan was born.
This young boy, the only son of an old couple, grew up never giving a damn about anyone else except himself. He took what he wanted when he could while wasting as little energy as possible. By the age of six, he had become a public nuisance and at the age of twelve an outlaw. Three years after that he was thrown from the town gates at 12 midnight and left to fend for himself. He quickly took to the terrain, beating fat and bloated merchants on their way into town with a heavy club and robbing them of all their belongings. The mayor of the town himself was beaten over the head five times before being tossed from his carriage and impaled with a small dagger. By now, he was wanted by vigilante groups, law enforcement and even the local military for stealing provisions. At the age of 21, he fled the local province and made for the capital, pillaging just outside the borders of the city with his own small group of men, taking what they could and leaving little behind. If he had continued this less than noble life any further, it is quite possible he would have been struck dead. But, a few days after his 24th birthday, the Enalius and her Mosfaru minions invaded the planet. The planet attempted a futile resistance, but it was all for naught. The Mosfaru swept through them, reviving their own dead along the way while adding to their ranks as they moved. The slaughter lasted only a few days, with Tristan being unfortunate enough to be camping near one of the designated landing areas. He was skewered with three pikes, two in the chest and one in the arm, before having his neck snapped. Seconds afterwards, the Enalius extended into him her hand, yanked out his soul by the neck and devoured it. He had been revived as a Mosfaru soldier, and would continue to fight in the name of the Enalius for over 300 years before he became recognised for what a potentially great warrior he could before. It took the defeat of one of the greatest creatures the Mosfaru had ever come across in order for it to happen.
Initially, there were over 20,000 Mosfaru poised to come down upon the great Dragon Queen. Only 32 managed to come back intact and only one came back bearing the head of the great beast. The Enalius was so overcome with joy with the destruction of so vast and powerful a creature that she didn’t notice one fatal flaw until it was too late. Tristan, having been the one to deliver the fatal blow to the creature by cutting his way through her great body, withstanding the torrents of blood gushing out of her, navigating his way through her using her veins and arteries and plunging his blade into her heart, thereby killing her instantly. However, as he made his way back to the encampment to celebrate his victory over the Queen and the conversion of another planet, he didn’t notice a warm, itching feeling in the base of his skull, or in his heart. The Queen, in an act of desperation, had hurled herself into Tristan’s empty body as an act of desperation to preserve her life.
The Enalius, finding it difficult to control the impulses of one of her Mosfaru, was deeply troubled by what she had seen. She had journeyed into the mind of a Mosfaru she had recently awarded the rank of marked one and had renamed L’Morte Damesious, and had found a slumbering dragon in his mind. What was even more troubling was, when she had tried to get rid of the beast, it had awoken. Catching her by surprise, the beast had hurled her from the mind of this Mosfaru and had been left reeling in her chair. Soon afterwards, he had gone AWOL, abandoning her army by stealing one of the many intergalactic ships and had dashed off to parts unknown. She had no idea of his intentions, of where he was going or what he would be capable of. He could very well use the resurrection process against her, constructing his own army of soulless Mosfaru. Even the thought of that was enough to chill her to the bone.
In truth, L’Morte had no idea what he was doing. Only that he wanted to get back to his old way of life, away from the Mosfaru and from the Mosfaru. To a place where he could pillage, plunder and destroy whatever he so wished whenever he felt like it. This is how his life has been going for almost 100 years, travelling from planet to planet, galaxy to galaxy, ever-seeking that which he would never find but was unwilling to pass it off as nothing more than a figment of his imagination. If he had to lay waste to everything he came across to find it, he would find his paradise, or so he believed for, sadly, even if L’Morte ever found what he searched for, he would be doomed to destroy it. For such is the nature of what he is, and who he is.
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I apologise for the rushing of the bio. I had hoped to make it much more interesting than that in order to hold the readers attention… hopefully, I can tweak it a bit over the weekend.
Ignoring that, I have provided a challenge I can only hope will prove worthy. Will you accept, DP, or shall you cower in fear?
Rules: Follow the guidelines set by LoC and by Morph. Yeah, that's pretty much it.
Now for the location: A desolate old church on the planet Earth situated a mile or so from the nearest village or town. To the left and right of the decaying, boarded-up church is the sprawling remains of a graveyard where the dead rot for all eternity, all but forgotten by the life around them. Only mere metres from the borders of the graveyard is a small yet flourishing forest usually full of life and noise, has now fallen deathly silent. The weather has taken a turn for the worst with a light drizzle falling. The inevitability of a storm is certain, and it is unknown if the broken down church will be able to survive the battering.
I'll also accept three judges for this battle, and would prefer it if these three were veterans of RP battles.
Not, last but not least, the template. You do not necessarily have to follow the example I have set. Just use the template you would find most comfortable:
Now for the location: A desolate old church on the planet Earth situated a mile or so from the nearest village or town. To the left and right of the decaying, boarded-up church is the sprawling remains of a graveyard where the dead rot for all eternity, all but forgotten by the life around them. Only mere metres from the borders of the graveyard is a small yet flourishing forest usually full of life and noise, has now fallen deathly silent. The weather has taken a turn for the worst with a light drizzle falling. The inevitability of a storm is certain, and it is unknown if the broken down church will be able to survive the battering.
I'll also accept three judges for this battle, and would prefer it if these three were veterans of RP battles.
Not, last but not least, the template. You do not necessarily have to follow the example I have set. Just use the template you would find most comfortable:
Name: L’Morte Damesious, but is also known by the title of Dragonslayer and by those who serve him as the White Knight. In a previous life, he was known as Tristan Morrigan.
Age: He died at the age of 24, and has since lived as a one of the Mosfaru for over 500 years.
Species: The Mosfaru, as they call themselves, and also known by other races as the Deathspawn.
Home World: Was once the planet Rhebes, but became the planet Enalius after he became a Mosfaru.
Appearance (Physical): Mosfaru retain the majority if not all of the physical attributes of the creatures they once were, although there are a few noticeable differences. The most noticeable is the skin. The skin is usually extremely discoloured, giving them a very pale complexion that is somewhat reminiscent of a vampire. All Mosfaru also share the same coloured hair, as dead and lifeless as their pale grey skin, and black, opaque eyes that give the feeling to any soul unfortunate enough to gaze into the eyes of a Deathspawn a feeling of despair, with the feeling that their mind, body and soul are sinking into the endless depths of oblivion.
However, unlike most Mosfaru, there are the select few with L’Morte being a prime example who, having proved themselves on the field of battle are granted a lease of life by the Enalius which has been branded the ‘mark’, making those who earn it ‘marked ones’. This mark is in fact an evolution of the Mosfaru. It grants those worthy of the mark a few albeit power magical properties of a kind few have ever witnessed, and none survived. However, the strain of even containing this magic within a frail body can have a few adverse side-effects. It can cut off several senses upon contact and wear away the most of the rest with time. Not only that, but it also cuts the skin into small pieces that are seemingly held together by nothing. This leads to a large amount of blood loss during the first few days and can prove fatal to the marked one. If the marked one manages to survive, the cuts will eventually heal into filthy brown scars giving the Mosfaru an uncanny resemblance to a walking jigsaw, held together by invisible bonds and giving a rather frightening appearance.
Aside from the usual irregularities of the Mosfaru, L’Morte cannot taste or speak, as his mouth has been sealed shut (connecting the skin below his lower lip and upper lip together, thereby sealing it shut) due to the overwhelming power of the Enalius magic. Thankfully, though, Mosfaru do not need any form of nourishment to survive other than air to breathe.
Appearance (Clothing): Although there are no rules set in stone for the dress code of the Mosfaru (and certainly not for a marked one, who are usually given free reign when it comes to trivial matters such as this), the Mosfaru are most definitely a warring people, paying little to no heed to negotiations, diplomacy or anything of the sort. Therefore, it is encouraged that all people wear at all times some form of armour or military dress. L’Morte, although free of the gentle tyranny of the Enalius, has seen no reason to think differently. He seldom removes his ivory plate armour, made from raw diamond sandwiched between two plates of pure steel squeezed so tight together they have been near enough fused, making his armour all but impregnable to conventional firearms. He has even been known to withstand a direct shot from artillery fire and withstand the claw of the Queen of Dragons herself. Seeing no need for any embroidery of any kind, as it would only get in the way in battle and could possibly cost him his life.
Weapon: A 7ft long Halberd that was made in much the same way L’Morte’s armour was constructed. The shaft, however, was made with flexibility in mind, and so is not as dense as the axe head and so makes the weapon much more difficult to use, but allows L’Morte to use the weapon with flexibility that could only be topped by a whip. The axe head, constructed with the wielder in mind, was modelled after one of his greatest accomplishments: his victory over the great Queen of Dragons, Shequah. The cutting blade was crafted in a delicate manner until perfection, with a giant Dragon wing that was almost a metre in diameter becoming the fruit of the labours.
A blade of this size and weight on a thin flexible shaft seems like a blacksmiths nightmare, but the weapon was crafted with such attention and care that the makers, undoubtedly masters of their craft, managed to negate weight of the blade by having it focused towards no particular point on the weapon and, in turn, making it easier to wield overall. L’Morte who, upon witnessing the blade, was overcome by its craftsmanship, decided upon naming it after the late Queen of Dragons. Due to how large the weapon is, however, it lacks a holster meaning L’Morte must carry it with him wherever he goes.
Abilities: Although most of L’Morte’s abilities stem from what he is, there are a few abilities contained within him that no other Mosfaru could even dream of accomplishing. However, I think it best if I go into more detail as to what the Mosfaru are capable of.
Resurrection/Conversion: The most well-known trait of a Mosfaru, and quite possibly the sole reason for which they are feared and hated and is the major reason the Mosfaru have been so successful in conquering so many galaxies and subjecting so many people. Any fallen creature, whether it has been dead for centuries or seconds, whether it is as small as a mouse or as large as an Elephant, can be brought back by any Mosfaru and transformed into a Mosfaru in the process. This is possible due to the strange but potent magic of the Enalius. She does this through forcing one of her many servants to make physical contact with the target. Anything from the slightest touch to a full embrace will do. This will have to be maintained for at least a few seconds before the Enalius can apply her magic. The process may take more or less time, depending on how large the target or targets are, with the average human being taking only 10 seconds. The effect spreads from the point of every, changing or creating the skin into hat of the Mosfaru along the way until the creature has been fully converted. The target retains all physical and mental abilities they had at the time of death as well as the power of the Mosfaru that comes with it. However, these people are nothing more than empty vessels. Although the mind and body return, the soul, which is forever connected to the host, is not returned. Instead, it is consumed by the Enalius to prolong her life and preventing the newly converted Mosfaru from breaking free of her grip. However, the rules are different for a marked one. Not only can they control any and all Mosfaru they resurrect, but they do not need to make physical contact with the target, instead only having to be within a particular radius, usually 50 to 75 metres (due to L’Morte’s accomplishments for the Enalius, however, he has been given enough power to raise all of the dead within a square mile, although it would take him hours, perhaps even days to accomplish such a feat. However, any creature they resurrect automatically has its soul sent to the Enalius. For the Enalius, any dead creature on her home planet is almost instantly converted regardless of its scale; such is the control over the magic of her species. There are several ways, however, to break free of her mind-control. If the resurrection is completed but the soul consumption is not, the mind, body and soul of the target is resurrected as they once were. However, due to the fact that it only takes about 10 seconds for an average creature and due to the trademark viciousness of the Mosfaru, this has not become a problem as of yet.
Modification: A somewhat overlooked factor by most other races that have to deal with the Deathspawn is that, during the resurrection process when the Enalius is reassembling the broken tissues of a dead creature through the magic of her dead race, she alters their physical prowess enhancing speed, endurance, power and stamina, increases their intelligence thereby making them braver, much wiser, more cunning and no longer have a sense of right and wrong, so that only her word is law. She also, and most disturbingly of all, takes advantage of every creatures sexual motives and preferences. She has each and every one of her species infatuated with her to the point of obsession, making it easier to tell them what to do and preventing any kind of mutiny. Not only that, but any and all creatures revived not only have a love of death, murder and destruction, but fantasise about their own physical, mental and emotional pain. The Enalius then takes advantage of the lust they feel when acting out any of these and pours every ounce of energy from it into the battle, meaning that for every bit of damage they dish out, every blow they receive and for every life they end; they only want to fight harder, better and deadlier. They are moulded into the perfect army in every conceivable way. All this helps in a small way to negate some of the many adverse marked effects, but it cannot wholly stop the process. There is no known method of doing so for any creature other than the Enalius.
The Soul of Shequah: The Queen of Dragons L’Morte faced off against was his crowning glory. None can deny that. However, the Queen did not simply die, as both the Enalius and L’Morte had thought, but had passed its soul into L’Morte’s body, which had remained an empty vessel since his soul was consumed. Even to this day it still inhabits his body, always attempting to take control of the host but never fully succeeding due to the endless interference of the Enalius. Both are constantly engaged in a war contained within the mind of L’Morte for possession of the body: Shequah so she can continue to exist in the mortal plane and the Enalius so she can once again regain control of her greatest warrior. The constant fighting within his mind has given L’Morte a lease of life the Enalius would never allow him to have. The endless turmoil has allowed him to be free from the mind-control of the Enalius and from Shequah although this has had an adverse effect on his fighting capability, which has been severely hampered by the presence of two so very powerful individuals in his mind. There have been occasions, though, when a fight got too tough for L’Morte to deal with on his own that both the Enalius, who does not wish to lose her prized warrior and Shequah, who does not yet wish to leave for the land of the dead, have both united and aided L’Morte in any way they can, although the true extent of the power both together could give to him has not yet been revealed, but it could very well be possible that if he were to reach his absolute full potential, he could destroy entire planets if he so wished. Also, through his short yet helpful conversations with Shequah, he has managed to learn and wield a small amount of Dragon Magic, although he is still as of yet only a trainee in the art, and could never hope to use it effectively in battle until he was properly versed.
Personality: The conflict between the Enalius and Shequah has given a new L’Morte a chance to rise from the ashes of his former self, although he seems in no hurry to change from his former ways as a bandit. Smooth-talking and arrogant, he would be cocky if he didn’t have the power to back up his claims and never passes up on a chance to get what he wants with as little effort as possible. However, you should not let this gentle facade fool you. Due to the earlier influence of the Enalius, he will kill, maim, brutalize and destroy without a second thought just for the hell of it.
Biography: It all began before L’Morte, who had been christened Tristan at birth, had made his first steps, before he had been born, even before his world had been created. It all began on the planet of Kii, 12 million years before Tristan’s planet had even begun to form. On the large planet of Kii there resided a very strange but alluring creature; a race capable of reanimating its dead in an instant, and transforming every living creature around it into their own personal and eternal slaves. These strange, wonderful and immensely powerful creatures named themselves the Enalius, after the god they worshipped. They believed this god of theirs had been the one to grant them the power to control any creature they wished, and also believed this God wished them to use their powers for not only the good of their planet or the creatures on it, but for the good of the entire universe. To this end, they refused to practice the ‘evil’ side of their powers, and chose not to transform the other inhabitants of their world into their slaves or alter their minds in any way, but instead only choose to revive back whenever they earned it. It meant that the world’s great, noble leaders, their wise men and their wonderful entertainers would never die. They would never leave the world they had made their mark on. No creature even so much as approached extinction. All lived in peace and happiness. It was something straight out of a fairy tale. All was fine, of course, until one of these creatures, a young female known as Tesimi was born.
Tesimi had always felt that she was born for great things, knew she was destined to become a great person. She pushed herself to the limits of her knowledge, reviving any creature that so much as passed her by. These actions, her elders appreciated and even encouraged. They did not however, appreciate never mind encourage her morals. She felt that, if her species had the power, they should use it. That they should take control of everything, and envisioned that she would be the one to do it. Her elders dismissed this as a childhood fantasy, most of the time. However, all this changed when Tesimi took a full dive into the ‘evil’ side of her races power. She consumed the soul of a small bird she had found run over and ordered it to kill a young boy at school who had been bullying her. The repercussions were so swift and brutal that Tesimi found herself rotting a prison cell in less than a day. The public outcry was unbelievable. They demanded the immediate release of the young girl, who had been clearly upset when a young man hit her and couldn’t have meant for the bird to kill him. A mob, led by Tesimi’s parents, was formed in less than a week. Well, it could hardly be called a ‘mob’, as it numbered in the hundreds of thousands. The feeble military never stood a chance as the mob, growing in numbers even as they moved stormed past like the army of darkness, lay waste to the prison and freed Tesimi. Although this was the most sudden and brutal uprising it the history of the race, it was not over yet.
The years went by and Tesimi, now a flourishing young woman, was still consuming the souls of creatures. Her powers seemed to grow with every soul consumed, allowing her to eat more, faster and amass an army of gigantic proportions. Of course, this army was kept secret to the rest of her kind. She had them keep to the shadows at all times while she practiced her powers, adding and adding until it was impossible to keep them secret any longer. She had even begun to drag the dead of her own kind from out of their graves and subject their souls, minds and bodies to her whim. Even now, she had become the most powerful among her race and hadn’t even so much as scratched the surface of her potential. Eventually, she declared war on every living thing on her planet that was not serving her.
It was a massacre. In less than 10 minutes, she had almost total control over every thing that had lived and was living in the planet. Not only that, but she had consumed enough souls to last hundreds upon thousands of years. She had become as close to an immortal being as a mortal could ever come, and still she was not satisfied. Her planet, which she had now named after her race, had begun to gather attention from other races throughout the galaxy. There was nothing to stop this young empress from declaring war on the entire galaxy and winning. They had to stop her before it was too late… but… was it already too late?
Tesimi, who had not only named her planet after her people but now also herself, was not idle while the rest of the galaxy made plans for her demise. Her people needed no food, no rest and no water. They could work for weeks, months even, none stop. She commanded them to build her an armada and a palace in which to reside, and there she stays to this day, leaning upon her diamond throne in a lax position whilst her mind is always at work. It took only 5 months for 30,000 intergalactic ships to be made. That was twice the amount of the entire galaxy’s armada’s combined into one. There is no reason to explain any further the results of that conflict. Suffice it to say that the alliance against the Enalius failed miserably, and that an entire galaxy was enslaved to her will in 5 years. It was during this time that, on a planet on another galaxy, momentarily far away from any danger posed from the Enalius or her unstoppable army of creatures, which she named the Mosfaru (after the god her people had worshiped) on a small planet called Rhebes, a young boy named Tristan was born.
This young boy, the only son of an old couple, grew up never giving a damn about anyone else except himself. He took what he wanted when he could while wasting as little energy as possible. By the age of six, he had become a public nuisance and at the age of twelve an outlaw. Three years after that he was thrown from the town gates at 12 midnight and left to fend for himself. He quickly took to the terrain, beating fat and bloated merchants on their way into town with a heavy club and robbing them of all their belongings. The mayor of the town himself was beaten over the head five times before being tossed from his carriage and impaled with a small dagger. By now, he was wanted by vigilante groups, law enforcement and even the local military for stealing provisions. At the age of 21, he fled the local province and made for the capital, pillaging just outside the borders of the city with his own small group of men, taking what they could and leaving little behind. If he had continued this less than noble life any further, it is quite possible he would have been struck dead. But, a few days after his 24th birthday, the Enalius and her Mosfaru minions invaded the planet. The planet attempted a futile resistance, but it was all for naught. The Mosfaru swept through them, reviving their own dead along the way while adding to their ranks as they moved. The slaughter lasted only a few days, with Tristan being unfortunate enough to be camping near one of the designated landing areas. He was skewered with three pikes, two in the chest and one in the arm, before having his neck snapped. Seconds afterwards, the Enalius extended into him her hand, yanked out his soul by the neck and devoured it. He had been revived as a Mosfaru soldier, and would continue to fight in the name of the Enalius for over 300 years before he became recognised for what a potentially great warrior he could before. It took the defeat of one of the greatest creatures the Mosfaru had ever come across in order for it to happen.
Initially, there were over 20,000 Mosfaru poised to come down upon the great Dragon Queen. Only 32 managed to come back intact and only one came back bearing the head of the great beast. The Enalius was so overcome with joy with the destruction of so vast and powerful a creature that she didn’t notice one fatal flaw until it was too late. Tristan, having been the one to deliver the fatal blow to the creature by cutting his way through her great body, withstanding the torrents of blood gushing out of her, navigating his way through her using her veins and arteries and plunging his blade into her heart, thereby killing her instantly. However, as he made his way back to the encampment to celebrate his victory over the Queen and the conversion of another planet, he didn’t notice a warm, itching feeling in the base of his skull, or in his heart. The Queen, in an act of desperation, had hurled herself into Tristan’s empty body as an act of desperation to preserve her life.
The Enalius, finding it difficult to control the impulses of one of her Mosfaru, was deeply troubled by what she had seen. She had journeyed into the mind of a Mosfaru she had recently awarded the rank of marked one and had renamed L’Morte Damesious, and had found a slumbering dragon in his mind. What was even more troubling was, when she had tried to get rid of the beast, it had awoken. Catching her by surprise, the beast had hurled her from the mind of this Mosfaru and had been left reeling in her chair. Soon afterwards, he had gone AWOL, abandoning her army by stealing one of the many intergalactic ships and had dashed off to parts unknown. She had no idea of his intentions, of where he was going or what he would be capable of. He could very well use the resurrection process against her, constructing his own army of soulless Mosfaru. Even the thought of that was enough to chill her to the bone.
In truth, L’Morte had no idea what he was doing. Only that he wanted to get back to his old way of life, away from the Mosfaru and from the Mosfaru. To a place where he could pillage, plunder and destroy whatever he so wished whenever he felt like it. This is how his life has been going for almost 100 years, travelling from planet to planet, galaxy to galaxy, ever-seeking that which he would never find but was unwilling to pass it off as nothing more than a figment of his imagination. If he had to lay waste to everything he came across to find it, he would find his paradise, or so he believed for, sadly, even if L’Morte ever found what he searched for, he would be doomed to destroy it. For such is the nature of what he is, and who he is.
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I apologise for the rushing of the bio. I had hoped to make it much more interesting than that in order to hold the readers attention… hopefully, I can tweak it a bit over the weekend.
Ignoring that, I have provided a challenge I can only hope will prove worthy. Will you accept, DP, or shall you cower in fear?