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Description

Master stands tall among men, with an overbearing body to exemplify his internal strength. His toned muscles ripple visibly under his skin with every movement he makes, whether it be taking his smooth and bounceless strides or turning his head to provide his attention to an associate. A smooth face with not a single stray facial hair is accentuated inversely to the lack of age shown by his flesh; a feature for which the vain would kill. With high cheekbones and eyes that rest softly atop, his jawline sweeps firmly into a blocked chin, ending so abruptly that the shadow cast across his face in any light is cut into a distinguished two-tone. His black eyebrows do nothing but quietly lay upon his unwrinkled brow as his eyes smoothly shift from focus to focus, as if guided by some silken maiden. His clothing is humble at best: a black tank-top resting tightly across his muscular shoulders, loosely fitting yet not baggy cloth pants (allowing his already flowing movement to become even more so), and a well used pair of black boots adorning his feet.

Equally dark and shadowed, an extraordinarily densely woven weighted cloak is never far behind, whether it be worn on his body, or simply tossed aside as some relic from a lost past, having long lost its purpose as a training item. His movements, though smooth, are strong and deliberate, causing simple movements such as adjusting his standing posture to appear as if they have some underlying purpose beyond comfort. Where he stands, his feet seem to take root into the ground, as his body remains as fluid steel, appearing completely immovable, whether by mortal or divine power. His gaze pierces beyond bone, straight through the heart and into the stomach, quite often paralyzing those weak of will. Rarely meeting a handshake or full bow, Master nearly always meets strangers with a shallow nod of the head, in a sort of mock bow. Never meaning disrespect, he replicates the procedure among friends, adding in the effect of his trustworthy gaze. Naturally at rest in a standing posture, he is in the habit of folding his arms before him by simply cupping his elbows with his worn hands, never disgraced to be found leaning with his back against some tree and his chin slightly down. Eyelids up to match his gaze towards the horizon at all times, he places a natural disadvantage upon the women by seemingly never sleeping.

Personality

No longer willing to accept human emotions as reason for action, Master seeks his own outcome in each situation, and will equally clear a brand new path through the forest to achieve his goals. Power and money are of no value to him, as he has lived through thousands of years of corruption and scandal doled out by their existence. Understanding that neither are needed for survival, yet overtly maintaining the facade of having both, he uses them with the knowledge that those who he provides for may very well fall victim to the clutches of their corruption and invalidity. Valuing those who stand above the menially arduous drudgery of clawing their way to power, Master stands alone and in peace in the physical world, while inwardly seeking resolution to the conflict that drives his existence, that which pushes him to explore and to encounter.

He has lived for so many thousands of years seeing his friends fall before him just as supply as his enemies, that he has accompanied a certain invalue with each life brought before him. Alighieri pushing at all moments to break free from his prison, while Remaeus remains silent and otherwise lacking, Master has become a drifting being quite nearly unaware of his own struggle, detached and apathetic, as he wanders the world, seeking that which he does not know. He questions death's existence every moment of his nights, seeking to excoriate whatever it may be that pushes him to doubt, a cyclical redundancy that he remains caught up in after countless passings of nations and regimes. Pushing to purge that which sustains him, he must find a way to do so without purging it into freedom, whether it gracing him with his own passing or cursing him with the continuance of eternal life.

Equipment

The Rune Sword (Level 3): Master's only non-standard equipment is embodied in the form of a sword, known as the Rune Sword. Forged by arcane magic, the Rune Sword is one of the most delicately crafted weapons ever produced by mortal hands, and would make most immortals jealous when speaking in terms of flawless construction. A four-handed hilt provides little practicality for any wielder of less than average strength, as a five foot blade extrudes in a two-tiered fashion, marked upon the first and wider of the tiers by a fuller, impressioned by arcane runes along the groove. Nearly as thick as some swords are wide at it's thickest point, the one inch thick blade made its mark as one of the heaviest weapons, though deceivingly wielded by a skilled owner as if it were a fifty pound feather being guided to it's target while falling under it's own weight, with loops and slashes intertwining themselves in a pendular motion, creating a superfluous assault upon any target that may be unfortunate to meet this blade at the hand of a skilled wielder. The runes in the fuller groove of the blade seem to be of Norse origin, yet somehow transcend the age and power of such a language, almost appearing to be of a more heavenly descent, occasionally exhibiting the characteristics of the Angelic alphabet, creating an altogether distinguished script that waves it's glorious serifs in an undecipherable manner.

These runes, while not at all enchanting or magical by themselves, merely provide a bond between the blessing of some arcane creature and the weapon, to the effect of causing wounds made by the blade to be unhealable by magic for a full year's time, with adverse affects if attempted, as well as what appears to be some time-bound blessing, allowing one with the appropriate permissions to shift time as if it were a slider between his fingers. Rounding off into an angular tip, the blade cuts a powerful silhouette as it's two sectioned blade widens halfway between the tip and the guard, allowing the fuller groove to slide along the wider section directly to the hilt, falling away on both sides to a swept guard that would be marked by an elbow as it sweeps out yet again to form a two winged shield from any blows careening off the greater blade looming above. Finally giving way to a finely tanned woven leather grip, either embossed with some exquisite pattern or skinned from some exotic animal, providing comfort upon an otherwise brutal weapon. All comes together as the grip breaks into a lengthened teardrop at the pommel, tapered upon the sides as it comes to a point yet again at the utmost extremity, inset firmly with a dark gem of varying color and unknown origin.

History

Having been born into a time of trial, Remaeus was an orphan from an early age, having his parents brutally slaughtered by the Daoi-Sith during their conquest of Arda. Whisked away to an arcane monastery, he was raised and trained in the ways of Midian for many years. To become a master of his art, he was required to go through a rigorous series of trials and exams, before finally taking wing and shoved out into the open world, to live in solitude for five suns in the wilderness. Should he have returned, he would have been awarded his mastery and honored as one of the few survivors. Two years through this final solo trip, he was unwillingly shoved into contact with some dark form, and ultimately was forced to fuse with this creature that had so abruptly changed his outlook upon completing his task. A melding of mind, spirit, and body - a fusion - was a creation of a whole new being. Requiring massive amounts of energy, concentration, and willpower, and at the very least a verse of judgment from some higher form or power, the fusion would be the determining factor on allowing him to survive his trial, though in a great manner different than expected. Unbeknownst to Remaeus, his partner was the evil construct Alighieri, an הנּפלים of utmost power, creating some very serious and assumedly permanent changes.

The new creature formed woke, and through a turn of events, was rescued and brought to full health. Due to severe amnesia and possibly brain damage caused by the complete imbalance of power, he could only recall the word "master" for several months of time, and was named "Master" by his savior for this reason. He proceeded to relearn his language and was taught the ways of society, but was perturbed by a certain difference from the general populace. He became painfully aware of both sides of his internal personality, suffering the pain of looking back at a town, crying - after suffering a blackout and waking only to see the entire community reduced to nothing but a pile of ash, bone, and pockmarks upon the solid ground below. He wandered on alone, hearing of the destruction the Daoi-Sith were causing, and noting the attribution of his own tragedies to them.

A chain of instances brought this world to an end, as the Daoi-Sith would not have their thirst for power quenched among each territory gained by them in their conquest, and ultimately became the ultimate and most corrupt empire that the global community of Arda had ever seen in their short history. Turning inward upon themselves for pleasure and sadism, further civil corruption ensued until finally the ultimate power, be that as it may, cleared the entire universe from existence and started anew. Civilizations thousands of years old ceased to exist, in favor of a new world.

Master failed to be present at this timespace, through whatever turn of events. He found himself meandering through time at a natural rate, making friends and acquaintances, growing closer and closer to them as time passed. Inevitably, each life would terminate, whether by war or conflict, accident or old age. Master's face, smooth as it was a thousand years past, had internally grown weary and became brazen and jaded. His manner became apathetic, while he watched every mortal pass before him with all outcome the same. No one could escape it, as he held their future in his memory. He didn't know why - yet - but he drove onward in life to find his answers. Becoming more experienced with maintaining a firm grip upon the nape of his own temperament, he saw less and less damage caused by him, but never to the point of an ultimate close. Always fearful of death by sword or gun, he fights for his life to seek reason for it to exist.

Master's Story