It has been… so long…
He gazed upon the chaotic ruin of worn rock and splintered wood. His vacant eyes - once a brilliant white that sparkled with the intensity of a thousand suns, were now tainted to the dull silver of a sombre rain cloud - probed the demolished city for any trace of life from under his dust-coated indigo hood. Sparse vegetation grew between cracks in the hard-packed soil and crevices where rock and land met; feeding on what little moisture remained in the air after the dry spell this region had suffered. Wild animals, as hardy as the vegetation itself to have survived such a season, fed upon either plants or animals, each providing poor fare as sifting through the rubble of this ruined castle, and each relishing their part in the endless quest for survival.
What fragile life that remained in this long-abandoned outpost would not last much longer here. Not at this rate.
How could it have come to this, the man quizzed himself, his pitted face casting an even deeper frown as he raised his withered hands to cast back the long indigo hood protecting his face from the painfully bright and bizarrely omnipresent sunlight. His aged face once thought changeless yet now worn haggard and thin by his despairing confrontation with the fates, pulled back in a painful grimace.
He had never enjoyed this sight, this example of what destruction the war between the stalwart resistance of man-made structures and the timeless onslaught of nature had wrought.
His grim, lifeless grey hair clinging desperately to his sweat which had swabbing his cheeks as a sudden updraft threatened to dislodge the pairing while his sharp yet equally scarred nose quivered in distaste. His thin, reedy lips pulling back to expose brittle yellow teeth as he twisted his head to spit with the direction of the wind, allowing his saliva to be carried off alongside what foul remainder of those who had broke upon this keep so long ago like a thunderbolt stained the once pure air.
This place had been contaminated by a restless evil, its ruined towers dark with treachery and hatred, and its shattered walls forever haunted by the disturbed spirits dead men and broken dreams.
His eyes, troubled not only by the smell but by the curse lain upon them, withdrew into themselves, closed to the world as he once again speculated on his decision. It would have been so much wiser to have tested his new-found strength against an inanimate object or perhaps even during one of the many small skirmishes between the recent Tymernian Republic and the tyrannical rule wielded by Emperor Yegdremal. He could put scores of men to the Blade for the sake of an experiment…
…yet to be able to mould his very soul in such a fashion… it would be nothing short of a waste to, after spending centuries locked away deep within his alchemies, test his abilities on the mindless peons of a fool-hardy despot. No… a true test of his skills was in order.
So, as the logical alternative, he would beckon forth an opponent from beyond his world.
Grey clouds heavy with moisture gathered above him as if to bear witness to the spectacle about to unfold, shouldering aside what had been until then his lone observer who removed itself from sight, taking with it both light and warmth. The scent of blood yet to be spilt drifted through the air borne upon the winds of battle yet to come. The battle would come soon, he was sure… he cared not who challenged him. Only that they provide a spectacle worthy of the Gods.
In a flash, he brandished a weapon unlike any other. A pale milky-white dagger, this weapon disintegrated into a small ball of dust –or, more accurately, sand - and took first the shape of a short sword, then a spear and then a trident. Satisfied, this enigmatic wielder of a strange weapon brought it aside, sweeping the blade in a wide arc as if to test it before propping it upon his shoulder in an almost leisurely fashion.
Sparing a glance for his empty left hand, the strange man noticed he was shaking… but from what? Dread? Exhilaration? Nostalgia?
Was it the sheer euphoria that rewarded the victor what he sought?
Was it the opportunity to, after centuries of isolation, revel in conquest over a defeated foe?
Did he once rejoice in such death and destruction?
Did he still?
The soft rhythm of long-awaited rain upon hard soil shook such thoughts from his mind, returning him to a state of clarity one must always maintain when going into battle.
Hoisting his weapon of choice with a light flourish in preparation of what was to come, he once again brought his massive hood forward, allowing it to droop down past his sightless eyes as he spoke. It was no more than a whisper, yet his voice was hard and humourless, all that remained dry in this weather.
“Come, friend or foe, foul beast or divine one, mortal or ageless. Come, challenge and fall to the Blade of the Ethereal Pilgrim…”
I apologise for the dramatic collapse of commitment towards the end, but that is exactly what this RP is for. For you see, I have been trying to complete this characters template for the past six months, and has as such become a chore on par with Sisyphus and his bloody rock. That is not how it should be.
So because of this I had hoped that, if one of you delightful RPers were to bequeath upon me a challenge, I would perhaps be stirred to once again take up the mantle and begin anew. So, as my character stated, ‘Come, challenge and fall to the Blade of the Ethereal Pilgrim’…
Rules:
This shall be a melee battle with a touch of magic here and there. I'll trust in my opponent to know exactly how much to use and how much not to use.
Where I have described. By the way, as I do not believe I have described it well enough, this collapsed castle shall rest atop a hill void of plant life for the most part, including grass, and shall continue as such for quite a distance, leaving the horizon broken by a ring of mountainous terrain. However, if you wish to teleport to several different planets or realms or whatever during the course of this battle, so be it...
I shall take on only one competitor, although that may be anyone, yet if this suddenly becomes hellafun I may consider taking on others. I'm in this for inspiration, however, so don't be ending it in an instant.
THIS SHALL BE NON-CONTINUOM! Just wanted to get that out of the way, as I don't really want to kill my character.
None of the usual: as in no PP-ing, no GM-ing and no someotherthindthing-ing if you know what's good for you.
Remember: this is supposed to be for fun. Let's keep it that way.
I'm not using a template, so I suppose it's only fair you don't either. Also, if you wish for a full and... somewhat comprehensive list of Vanadeil's abilities and weapons, just ask. It won't be much of a problem... well... probably not. >.>
Finally, I have used my post up there as my introduction, so if you wish to battle me, I would advise posting immediately. I wish you luck. You'll need it.
He gazed upon the chaotic ruin of worn rock and splintered wood. His vacant eyes - once a brilliant white that sparkled with the intensity of a thousand suns, were now tainted to the dull silver of a sombre rain cloud - probed the demolished city for any trace of life from under his dust-coated indigo hood. Sparse vegetation grew between cracks in the hard-packed soil and crevices where rock and land met; feeding on what little moisture remained in the air after the dry spell this region had suffered. Wild animals, as hardy as the vegetation itself to have survived such a season, fed upon either plants or animals, each providing poor fare as sifting through the rubble of this ruined castle, and each relishing their part in the endless quest for survival.
What fragile life that remained in this long-abandoned outpost would not last much longer here. Not at this rate.
How could it have come to this, the man quizzed himself, his pitted face casting an even deeper frown as he raised his withered hands to cast back the long indigo hood protecting his face from the painfully bright and bizarrely omnipresent sunlight. His aged face once thought changeless yet now worn haggard and thin by his despairing confrontation with the fates, pulled back in a painful grimace.
He had never enjoyed this sight, this example of what destruction the war between the stalwart resistance of man-made structures and the timeless onslaught of nature had wrought.
His grim, lifeless grey hair clinging desperately to his sweat which had swabbing his cheeks as a sudden updraft threatened to dislodge the pairing while his sharp yet equally scarred nose quivered in distaste. His thin, reedy lips pulling back to expose brittle yellow teeth as he twisted his head to spit with the direction of the wind, allowing his saliva to be carried off alongside what foul remainder of those who had broke upon this keep so long ago like a thunderbolt stained the once pure air.
This place had been contaminated by a restless evil, its ruined towers dark with treachery and hatred, and its shattered walls forever haunted by the disturbed spirits dead men and broken dreams.
His eyes, troubled not only by the smell but by the curse lain upon them, withdrew into themselves, closed to the world as he once again speculated on his decision. It would have been so much wiser to have tested his new-found strength against an inanimate object or perhaps even during one of the many small skirmishes between the recent Tymernian Republic and the tyrannical rule wielded by Emperor Yegdremal. He could put scores of men to the Blade for the sake of an experiment…
…yet to be able to mould his very soul in such a fashion… it would be nothing short of a waste to, after spending centuries locked away deep within his alchemies, test his abilities on the mindless peons of a fool-hardy despot. No… a true test of his skills was in order.
So, as the logical alternative, he would beckon forth an opponent from beyond his world.
Grey clouds heavy with moisture gathered above him as if to bear witness to the spectacle about to unfold, shouldering aside what had been until then his lone observer who removed itself from sight, taking with it both light and warmth. The scent of blood yet to be spilt drifted through the air borne upon the winds of battle yet to come. The battle would come soon, he was sure… he cared not who challenged him. Only that they provide a spectacle worthy of the Gods.
In a flash, he brandished a weapon unlike any other. A pale milky-white dagger, this weapon disintegrated into a small ball of dust –or, more accurately, sand - and took first the shape of a short sword, then a spear and then a trident. Satisfied, this enigmatic wielder of a strange weapon brought it aside, sweeping the blade in a wide arc as if to test it before propping it upon his shoulder in an almost leisurely fashion.
Sparing a glance for his empty left hand, the strange man noticed he was shaking… but from what? Dread? Exhilaration? Nostalgia?
Was it the sheer euphoria that rewarded the victor what he sought?
Was it the opportunity to, after centuries of isolation, revel in conquest over a defeated foe?
Did he once rejoice in such death and destruction?
Did he still?
The soft rhythm of long-awaited rain upon hard soil shook such thoughts from his mind, returning him to a state of clarity one must always maintain when going into battle.
Hoisting his weapon of choice with a light flourish in preparation of what was to come, he once again brought his massive hood forward, allowing it to droop down past his sightless eyes as he spoke. It was no more than a whisper, yet his voice was hard and humourless, all that remained dry in this weather.
“Come, friend or foe, foul beast or divine one, mortal or ageless. Come, challenge and fall to the Blade of the Ethereal Pilgrim…”
~ The Ethereal Pilgrim – Vanadeil Maneson ~
I apologise for the dramatic collapse of commitment towards the end, but that is exactly what this RP is for. For you see, I have been trying to complete this characters template for the past six months, and has as such become a chore on par with Sisyphus and his bloody rock. That is not how it should be.
So because of this I had hoped that, if one of you delightful RPers were to bequeath upon me a challenge, I would perhaps be stirred to once again take up the mantle and begin anew. So, as my character stated, ‘Come, challenge and fall to the Blade of the Ethereal Pilgrim’…
Rules:
This shall be a melee battle with a touch of magic here and there. I'll trust in my opponent to know exactly how much to use and how much not to use.
Where I have described. By the way, as I do not believe I have described it well enough, this collapsed castle shall rest atop a hill void of plant life for the most part, including grass, and shall continue as such for quite a distance, leaving the horizon broken by a ring of mountainous terrain. However, if you wish to teleport to several different planets or realms or whatever during the course of this battle, so be it...
I shall take on only one competitor, although that may be anyone, yet if this suddenly becomes hellafun I may consider taking on others. I'm in this for inspiration, however, so don't be ending it in an instant.
THIS SHALL BE NON-CONTINUOM! Just wanted to get that out of the way, as I don't really want to kill my character.
None of the usual: as in no PP-ing, no GM-ing and no someotherthindthing-ing if you know what's good for you.
Remember: this is supposed to be for fun. Let's keep it that way.
I'm not using a template, so I suppose it's only fair you don't either. Also, if you wish for a full and... somewhat comprehensive list of Vanadeil's abilities and weapons, just ask. It won't be much of a problem... well... probably not. >.>
Finally, I have used my post up there as my introduction, so if you wish to battle me, I would advise posting immediately. I wish you luck. You'll need it.