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Master

As an immortal, Master is strong, silent, and solemn; driven by that which extends his life: the construct of the first fallen archangel.

2,220 views · last seen in Pokemon Village
a character in “The Multiverse”, as played by Remæus

Groups

We are the recordkeepers and historians, the scribes and the bards. We keep track of history; past, present, and future.
These are the passengers on board the Orbus, as it departed the Wing City Spaceport for its maiden voyage.

Inventory

Description

Image

Master's journey has spanned eons greater than this universe has ever borne; from the times before creation and through the lands forgotten beyond, he holds within him the essence of הנּפלים — the great prime evil, imprisoned within his mind by a hidden strength granted to him as one of the Issachar, a divine sect of warrior monks from the lands before time.

Cursed with the immortality of his captive soul, he tends to stay as far away from civilization as possible — solitude giving him the space to meditate, study, and create. For thousands of years he has roamed this realm, carrying his burden as the great keeper of balance. His weary eye no longer wanders, but his prowess knows no match — wrestling with the greatest of demons for the past few millennia has tempered his power into nothing short of the divine.

Sahasrara is known to some as the "crown chakra". From it all other energies emanate, radiating as the thousand petals of the grand lotus as the rays of the sun cast upon first spring dawn. It is this energy from which he shall draw upon.

— Aurel, Magister of the Grand Citadel




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.

So begins...

Master's Story

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Character Portrait: Master Character Portrait: Arcus Sol

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"I will provide full funding for all material and labor costs for repairs and medical attention."

Arcus took a quick glance towards the others, allowing his straight blonde hair and icy blue eyes make the rest of his statement.

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Character Portrait: Master
  1. 2016-01-21 01:51:19 by Remæus

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OOC: I shall use the character I am best at fighting with, Swift. Because I'm new to the system, I’ll use strat one...

"Master...you know full well I shall fight...for no cost, even though I am normally a merc..."

He chuckles and walks towards the door...he's always around between 4 and 9 eastern time....

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#2006-05-07 06:13:27, as written by Remæus
Master steps into the area, fresh blood upon his left shoulder and spattered across his entire form, carrying his fabled Rune Sword, which also held blood across most of its surface. Reaching down to wipe the blood with his left hand, he clears the entire surface in a single swipe only to wipe it in a smear across the wall.

Here is the blood of the fallen. Labefacto Fleurrogue. Rock Lee. Uzumaki Naruto. Slain by my hand or at my feet.


He looked down once more, to see the runes upon his blade. This seemed to remind him of something, as his eyes snapped back up as he spoke again.

The body of Labefacto Perihorn has been mortally wounded by my blade. The body of Labefacto Muriel was graced by my blade. The runes have marked both, and neither will be able to be magically healed of these wounds for a year's time.


He allowed his lips to part once more before departing.

Our war has begun.


With that, he was gone.

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#2006-05-08 04:52:38, as written by Remæus
Master slides back into the room, his body straight and unworn, no longer covered in the blood of his enemies.
"The war has ended. A truce has been declared. There will be no further agression between us."
Then stepping back out of the area, Master is gone yet again.

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#2006-05-08 21:59:33, as written by Remæus
"I am sorry, but we have already left your playing field. There is no reason for us to come back, even as desperate as you sound."
Master paused for a moment, then continued.
"We do not have time for your council, your politics, nor your disarray. Stop wasting our time. If aggression remains, here we are. Come and get some."

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#2006-05-09 04:46:23, as written by Lvon
If you have not an ounce of dignity, to come to our lands, reap your short lived havoc and retreat as steadily as you came, then make such bold remarks upon your own land... then it is not us who should be considered the fools. Have the dignity of men, as you present yourselves to be, and respect the form of government established. You have killed the leader of the Labefacto, of course they shall be in disarray. You cannot disregard it as wasting your time because it is YOU who came to our land.

I am a woman of high stature, of nobility and diplomat reign. For what I have observed, you act foolish as you enjoy the taste of victory. You say you have proven your point in the war, for your side. For all I can see, you have made yourselves less through such effort. If you want to teach these generations, do not show them how they should NOT conduct their actions. You all have proven to be horrible role models, especially you Master. For this, you should all be ashamed.

The voice that echoed these words came from the familiar voice of Lady Venus, as she had stood amidst the shadows she had retreated to before. Her arms lay bare as they folded upon eachother, beneath her bust. Her voice, as sweet as a cherub held much destruction in it's tone, her tongue hissing each word at the men that called prided themselves.


Unfolding her arms from her front, she descended them both to her sides. Her right hand grasped upon the curve of her hip, pressing the silk fabric against her skin that lay beneath. She stepped forward, more so into the light to join the conversations taken part. She had obviously overheard for some time the matters being discussed, the composure of her face rigid, allowing for a slight glimpse to the age of the woman. Her lips, worn downward into a frown, remained partly open as she finished her lecture, feeling most like a mother scolding her children, as she had done many years passed.

If you wish to behave like children...

These statement faded from her lips near it's end, dragging the syllables of the words onward, the shimmering forest of emerald producing a menacing glow as she scanned across the men.

Then you shall be treated as such. We have spoken; all who wish to take this matter back to my land shall be dealt with.. if not PERSONALLY with myself. I'm sure Master can tell you his fright of me, as expressed through Warrius.

Her eyes came to rest upon Master, a coy smile creeping upon the moisten lips of the flawless face she wore. The delicate fingers drumming against the soft silk at her hip, omitting not a single audible sound in the process.

I am here, upon your soil now. If you wish to discuss with us the matters of this truce or if you wish to continue this war. Do not behave like children in my presence, for I am not your mother's. Do not make me act as such.

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#2006-05-09 11:58:53, as written by Remæus
"We have saturated your ground with your blood already. I would only think it fair reciprocation to assault us on our ground. What war is fought on one battleground?" Master responds firmly towards Lvon.

"Role models. Fear. You have no ground to stand upon, not even your own, as you stood idle while those around you suffered. Were you in fear, or simply modelling such exquisite valor that you would not defend? I am truly humbled." he continues, his tongue now beginning to sharpen with sarcasm. He piercing red eyes maintained their gaze upon Lvon, biting deep into her stomach as he went on.

"...and as for Chrost, when you stand upon our grounds? How long was it before your inner fears got the best of you and forced you to make a silent retreat?" said Master, his firm gaze still not shifting from Lvon.

"I am done. I will defend our honor to whatever end may come, unlike the greater mass of your allies, who refuse to stand up for one another. I am more impressed with those that fell at our hands, they defended one another knowing that they stood little chance. It is for this I honor your dead, and call dishonor upon the living."

He maintained eye contact for a moment longer before passing his eyes off to the right, skipping over Chrost. Falling into a brisk authoritative walk, he exited the area, his manner determining his attitude.

OOC: Well done, guys. To stir things up a bit more, come on over to our chat, check the other rooms, particularly #Isamahii_Garden. We'll be integrating them into the war now as well. Also, feel free to replace speed fights with turnbased fights on the forums. I'd have loved to do that there on Tux for the sheer beauty of it, but it wasn't exactly feasible. But then again, I always get a nice adrenaline rush out of a good speed fight. And as most everyone knows, I'm not exactly good at it.

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#2006-05-10 20:21:56, as written by Remæus
A puzzled look appeared on Master's face as the figure spoke.
"What are you talking about? Turnbased? Do you suggest we play a board game for our lives?"

Setting Changes... 3 => 4

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#2009-09-28 18:46:06, as written by Remæus
Master bursts into the bar with a rippling wave of black mist, causing him to materialize quite abruptly at an empty table.

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#2009-09-28 18:47:00, as written by Remæus
Master slides a chair out from the table before him and sinks into a sitting position. He glances around, flitting his deep crimson eyes from person to person.

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#2009-09-28 18:47:45, as written by Remæus
Master glances up to hear his name called. He responded,
Can I help you?

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#2009-09-28 18:49:20, as written by Remæus
Master sunk his head, conveying the same sense of irritation that he always endured when people noticed him. He enjoyed quiet settings, and not these loud settings where assassins could easily locate him.

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#2009-09-28 18:49:37, as written by Remæus
Master replies to this female figure,
Oh? And what is your name?

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#2009-09-28 18:51:36, as written by Remæus
Master scoffs at the strange response.
I am sorry, I do not recall mentioning your gender. And I do not appreciate invasions into my mind.

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#2009-09-28 18:52:20, as written by Remæus
Master pauses for a moment, poring through his thousands of years worth of memories.

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#2009-09-28 18:53:13, as written by Remæus
Master finally responds after a few seconds,
Ah, I see. It is good to see you again, Raya. What name do you now go by, and what is the reason for your... new appearance?

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#2009-09-28 18:55:25, as written by Remæus
Master responds to Sky Angel,
What a curious name. Not much difference in parallax to my own, I suppose.

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#2009-09-28 18:56:01, as written by Remæus
Master then glances up towards the clock on the wall and releases a very small hint of an emotion - in the form of a shrugging set of shoulders.

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#2009-09-28 18:57:24, as written by Remæus
Master follows up on Sky Angel's mention of Metro,
Donny and Tersan reported Metro as having been overrun by monsters, plagues, and demons -- and otherwise being completely demolished. What is the state of it now?

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#2009-09-28 18:58:29, as written by Remæus
Master nods in his form of a mock bow to this new person, Valentine. He was sitting, and even if he weren't - Master never offered more recognition than a dip of the chin to anyone.

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#2009-09-28 19:00:19, as written by Remæus
Master concludes that Metro is a lost cause, and continues.
I see. Donny considered the demonic portal that opened there to be the last straw for an otherwise dead city. Metro is lost, then.

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#2009-09-28 19:01:26, as written by Remæus
Character Portrait: Master Master says,
 
I apologize, but it is time for me to depart.

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#2009-09-28 19:01:29, as written by Remæus
Master stands up from his seat at the table and prepares himself to leave this plane.

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#2009-09-28 19:02:02, as written by Remæus
Master nods, responding with the same affirmation as always--
Indeed.

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#2009-09-28 19:02:33, as written by Remæus
Master reaches back and pulls the hood of his thick black cloak up, covering his fiery red hair and casting a deep shadow across his face.