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Gro'chal Deathweaver

An interstellar pirate that is adept at pyromancy/pyrokinesis, cryomancy/cryokinesis, necromancy, psionics, and other dark magics. He is wanted for numerous crimes.

0 · 807 views · located in Yggor's Island

a character in “The Multiverse”, as played by TheNoremac42

Groups

A legion of undead controlled by the infamous necromancer space pirate - Gro'chal Deathweaver.

Description

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Gro'chal Deathweaver
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The Necro Lord
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Personal Information
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Image

Full Name
Gro'chal Deathweaver

Description
Subject 72 is an extremely dangerous individual that is wanted for numerous accounts of murder, attempt of murder, arson, psychological and physical torture, genocide, attempt of genocide, terrorism, and necromancy. He is adept at manipulating and transferring heat energy with his mind in the form of fire or ice. The subject is also a master of psychic powers, shadow magic, and necromancy. The suspect is believed to be the leader of a violent and aggressive military regime. If you attempt to apprehend the fugitive do so with heavily armed and excessive back up. Do NOT underestimate him, his powers, and his forces. You have been warned. There are numerous high paying bounties on the capture or death of this individual.

Age:
Undetermined

Gender:
Male

Race/Main:
Naacani

Race/Sub:
Undead

Honorifics|Titles|Nicknames
The Necro Lord
The Dark One
The Deathweaver
Bearer of a Thousand Souls
Master of the Ancient Dead
"Subject 72"

Sexual Orientation:
Heterosexual

Birthplace:
Unknown
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Date of Birth:
Unknown

Marking|Tattoos|Piercings:
There is a mark on the back of his neck that resembles a white laughing skull, and there is also a burn on his left hand in the shape of a triangle along with several other strange markings

Height:
9' 7"

Weight
897 lbs.

Physical Condition:
Very muscular, yet practically so.

Current Residence
Unknown

Former Residence
Unknown

Family/Relatives:
Deceased

Friends/Comrades:
None

Enemies
Too many to name

Rivals

Organizations/Tribes/Clans:
The Deathweaver Clan

Former Affiliations:

Disabilities:
His vocal cords are not capable of speech beyond his native language

Personality:

Likes:
The subject enjoys causing pain, maiming, mutilating, and killing others - especially those who attempt his capture and arrest, and those who he feels has betrayed him. He is extremely violent

Dislikes:
Fish, being betrayed, and those who wish to capture him

Psychological Condition:
Sadistic, paranoid, genocidal psychopath that has been diagnosed with schizophrenia

Alignment:
Neutral Evil with Chaotic tendencies





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Equipment
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:Attire:
Subject 72 is known to disguise himself in various outfits, including a large black trench coat and wide brimmed hat.
:Protection:
The subject sometimes wears black plate armor that is much stronger than it appears
:Weapon(s):
A long black staff with a demon's skull mounted on the top, and a runed stone scimitar. He is also known to carry two strange alien blast pistols.
:Accessories/Misc:


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|Abilities|Traits|Racial|
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Pyromancy/Pyrokinesis

WARNING! Subject 72 has the ability to create and manipulate fire and generate heat in a substance, area, or object with his mind and will. Those who pursue the subject are likely to receive heavy burns or death.

Cryomancy/Cryokinesis

WARNING! Subject 72 has the ability to remove heat from a surface, substance, area, or object, causing it to freeze over or for a condensed blizzard to form. Those who pursue the subject are likely to receive heavy burns or death.

Psionics

WARNING! Subject 72 is very adept in psychic abilities, including telepathy, psychokinesis, mind reading/control, and creating powerful illusions. He is fond of utilizing fear against his enemies. Extreme caution is recommended.

Necromancy

Subject 72 is very adept in raising the dead, summoning spirits, and taking control of other undead. He is a very powerful necromancer and noctomancer, and should not be underestimated.



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Current History
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Past History
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©2011 Wolven[OC] (BBC Coding/Design) - Roleplay Gateway. All Rights Reserved

So begins...

Gro'chal Deathweaver's Story

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A slow agonizing creak resonated through the room as the front door opened on its own accord. Thunder shrieked and shook the building's foundation to its knees as lightning illuminated the silhouette of a dark figure that stood in the doorway. Eerie glowing blue eyes flashed from within the concealing shadow of a black fedora and trench coat. The roar of fierce rain echoed from behind the figure.

The cloaked man slowly and deliberately strode into the room. Water droplets formed small rivers and reservoirs as thick black boots hit the floor with a series of thuds. By all appearances, this was an ordinary man seeking shelter, a drink, and a hot meal. However, those more attuned to the spiritual and arcane would sense a tremendous amount of power that resonated from him. Those who listened closely would hear subtle yet dark whispers that echoed from the being. Dark power, of fire and ice, fear and shadow, death and chaos, clung to the man. An aura of fiery rage, dark hatred, cold sorrow, and endless suffering flowed from him.

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With the same steady and intimidating stride, the trench-coated man made his way to an empty stool on the far side of the counter. The seat creaked beneath his weight. His shadowed face slowly rotated in each direction as he searched for a barkeeper. As he did so, his mind wandered. But not into ordinary things like the game this Sunday, or a daughter's ballet recital, or what he had to pick up from the store on the way home so his wife wouldn't nag him all night. No, his mind found a much more entertaining pastime - probing its cousins. The man's consciousness slowly spread outward like an invisible fog, and it peered into the minds and souls of every tenant within the building like a hobo looting a dump, or a book-worm meandering through a library. However, it didn't waste time with minute things like thoughts and embarrassing secrets.

It sought after their fears.

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As the dark thoughts were slowly shoveled out of their hiding holes, the psychic space pirate grinned wickedly beneath the shadow of the black fedora. Capture... Death of loved ones... Vampires... This was going to be a fun night. He casually lifted his gloved hand onto the counter and slowly traced a figure-eight with his finger into the wood.

A moment later, Sosrioser would hear a series of loud crashes hitting the door, followed by the blood-curdled wails of the dying. Three Sith acolytes then burst through the door, sundering it into splinters across the floor. They approached the man with a murderous stride and wicked grins before stretching out their hands. Streams of lightning surged from their finger tips and bit into Sosrioser's flesh. Though it was an illusion only his eyes beheld, the agony and fear would be as real as his own burnt skin.

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As the imaginary Sith began to torture Sosrioser, Aiya would hear a symphony of mocking laughter and dark hisses. Suddenly, three vampires clad in dark Gothic robes appeared around her in clouds of dark smoke. Their skin was pale as death and their fangs dripped in dark blood. Eyes, red as fire, glared at her with murderous hunger while their lips were peeled back in sadistic grins. One of them snarled at the girl. His eyes would be familiar. "Did ya miss me?" he cackled.

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Gro'chal sighed in irritation as he grew tired of waiting for a waiter. He decided to take matters into his own hands... The trench-coated man stretched out a gloved hand and a nearby bottle of beer began to quiver and quake. Suddenly, it shot from its resting place and landed in his grip. The top shot off into some corner of the room before he brought the lip up to his shadowed mouth.

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The psychic space pirate smirked beneath his dark fedora at Sosrioser's final reaction to the illusion. He would awaken in a few minutes or an hour with no sign of what just happened to him. Gro'chal scanned the room with his consciousness yet again in search for a new victim. His mind's eye peered into the minds and souls of everyone in the establishment. Slowly and methodically he dug through the accumulated garbage in their brains. He searched through every thought, every secret, and every memory in search of the darkest and most hated fear within their being.

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nullGro'chal grinned wickedly as a fear of pain echoed into his mind. Perhaps he should mix some betrayal into the concoction as well? As he continued to drink his beer, the trench-coated man casually lifted a gloved hand and began forming a figure-eight with his finger on the counter.

A moment later, Ryuutarou would see Aroi grin maliciously at him before a large net pounced on him from above. High voltage electricity surged through it, causing tremendous agony. Several hooded men then emerged from the shadows, surrounded Ryu, and began to viciously kick him. Of course, it was only an illusion he could see... but the agony... despair... was as real as could be.

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At the same time, the small wyvern would see a smaller net emerge unexpectedly from the side and wrap around his small form. Powerful electricity surged through it, sending wave after wave of agony through the tiny creature as a hooded man approached and began stomping on him with a jagged cleat.

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Gro'chal growled slightly under his fedora as the armed men strode into the bar. It was fairly obvious that they were here for him. What else would the guns and crate be for? However, it wouldn't be enough... It was never enough.

The glass of his bottle crackled as the liquid hardened into ice. All around them, the wooden beams, boards, and even the foundation began to creak as if being compressed by a powerful force.

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Gro'chal didn't even flinch as the fire ball dissipated in a cloud of steam just inches from his body. A single crack coursed its way up the frozen bottle in his hands. The air surrounding the trench-coated man began to ripple with scorching waves of heat.

"Assault is ill advised, my reptilian friend..." he said. His voice was deep, dark, and intelligent.

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"Come now..." the building groaned again. "Is not every man entitled to their own modicum of entertainment every few moons? Your friend is physically undamaged, I have acquired my amusement, and you have achieved the role of hero in this fairy tale... Now I would suggest that you cease your aggression before you begin to annoy me... In that case I revert to utilizing a few cliches, such as maniacal laughter and a James Bond size giant laser."

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"Oh but my boy..." the man's voice suddenly resonated from beside Ari's left ear. The building quaked again, much more fiercely. "How do you know if it is truly an illusion?.... Hehehehehehe.. hahahahahahaha.... HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!" His dark voice now echoed seemingly from everywhere at once as every spoon, fork, knife, bottle, glass, and plate began to spin like tops on the tables and shelves. They spun faster and faster like miniature propellers. Several tables and chairs burst into blue flames. Liquids froze instantly within their containers. With a shriek, three robotic tenders imploded from a powerful crushing force.

Ryu and Houto would then feel an overwhelming force shatter through the barriers of their minds and souls. Darkness flooded through the gaping hole; darkness of a will that resonated with fiery rage, dark hatred, cold sorrow, and endless suffering.

"KILL HIM!!!" thundered a commanding voice from within their beings as blue flames would erupt from their eye sockets.

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As the light intruded into the shadows' territory, they rippled in discomfort and annoyance. The trench-cloaked man had vanished, but a larger, fiercer, more terrifying took his place on the opposite corner of the room. Its limbs were long, gangly, yet muscular. A four-fingered webbed hand gripped a long black staff. Impaled on the top was the skull of a horned creature. Blue flame and smoke flowed from its eyes. The creature squatted on the floor with reversed knees. His skin was black as coal and bore a bluish gray tint. It reeked with the smell of rotten eggs. Ghostly glowing blue eyes, mounted on an over-sized pulsating cranium, drilled at Ari[/i]. Long webbed mandibles twitched at the light.

"Impressive." said [b]Gro'chal's
voice, yet the creature showed no sign of speech. "Your powers of the cursed light are strong, but tell me...... Are you afraid of the dark?"

Gradually yet surely, every light in the room would begin to fade into shadow as darkness swallowed the room. The glowing eyes would vanish and reappear constantly as a dark laugh echoed into their minds.

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The disembodied voice of the creature laughed darkly as they exited the building. "Until next time, my scaled friend." Once the left the door, all memory of Gro'chal's appearance would vanish from their minds. Then he vanished.

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A slow agonizing creak resonated through the room as the front door opened on its own accord. Thunder shrieked and shook the building's foundation to its knees as lightning illuminated the silhouette of a dark figure that stood in the doorway. Eerie glowing blue eyes flashed from within the concealing shadow of a black fedora and trench coat. The roar of fierce rain echoed from behind the figure.

The cloaked man slowly and deliberately strode into the room. Water droplets formed small rivers and reservoirs as thick black boots hit the floor with a series of thuds. By all appearances, this was an ordinary man seeking shelter, a drink, and a hot meal. However, those more attuned to the spiritual and arcane would sense a tremendous amount of power that resonated from him. Those who listened closely would hear subtle yet dark whispers that echoed from the being. Dark power, of fire and ice, fear and shadow, death and chaos, clung to the man. An aura of fiery rage, dark hatred, cold sorrow, and endless suffering flowed from him.

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Character Portrait: Gro'chal Deathweaver

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The man stopped briefly as Alix spoke. "Greetings, Alix." he said in a deep, dark, yet intelligent voice. "You may assume such a hypothesis. For my supper, I would inquire if you possess the knowledge of creating a portion of gumbo, yes? A glass of water would be satisfactory as well..."

With the same steady and intimidating stride, the trench-coated man made his way to an empty table on the far side of the room near the fireplace. The seat creaked beneath his weight. His shadowed face slowly rotated in each direction as he searched for other patrons. As he did so, his mind wandered. But not into ordinary things like the game this Sunday, or a daughter's ballet recital, or what he had to pick up from the store on the way home so his wife wouldn't nag him all night. No, his mind found a much more entertaining pastime - probing its cousins. The man's consciousness slowly spread outward like an invisible fog, and peered into the minds and souls of every tenant within the building like a hobo looting a dump, or a book-worm meandering through a library. However, it didn't waste time with minute things like thoughts and embarrassing secrets.

It sought after their fears.

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Character Portrait: Gro'chal Deathweaver

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A moment later, Mikuno would feel or hear her cell phone go off. Across the screen was a text message from Thomas Barton. It was full of typos as if written in a hurry.

"Mik, the crtel raded the hq. im srry... i tried 2 save him. ur dad's gone. im bleedin out... he was gonna come aftr u. good bye."

The trench-cloaked man looked up at Alix as she approached and eyed her through the dark shadow of his fedora. "Thank you, miss Alix, and do not apologize. I recognize the emotion painted across your face... That is the look of a deer gazing into the eyes of the hunter. Your suffering, your sorrow - your hate. I understand them well. I too know the circumstance of being hated for what you are..." his gloved hand opened slightly, and the glass of water skid across the table into his grip. The man brought the lip up to his concealed mouth.

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No matter how hard she attempted to pierce through the shadows beneath his hat, his face could not be seen. "I am a man who has lost everything time and time again; a man who has been betrayed, used, and hated simply for existing." the liquid in his glass began to freeze over while the gumbo bubbled and steamed more fiercely. "I know many things about you, Alix. Your mind and soul is but an open book to me. Don't worry, with practice and training, your powers should increase in strength."

As Mikuno stared at the door, she would hear a loud crashing sound resonate from outside. A dark skinned man covered in tattoos, dressed in jeans and a hoodie, burst in through the door. His hand gripped a revolver that was leveled directly with her chest.

BANG!

The bullet penetrated through her shoulder, and the man approached the injured woman with a malicious and wicked grin. He would then attempt to grab her by the hair and drag her into the alley. Of course, this was only an illusion that she could see, but the agony and terror was as real as could be.

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Gro'chal discretely grinned from beneath his hat as the woman flung herself out the doorway in a crazed frenzy. He returned his attention back to Alix. "You would be surprised... For the majority of my early life I was imprisoned and chained within a cage because I was different - feared - and hated. For many years I possessed only one friend, the man who taught me how to defend myself. He provided the foundation to strengthen my powers, and I did so in secret. Many people have sought to send me back into chains, but only succeeded in their own demise."

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The trench-cloaked man nodded. "They did not bother with marking me like wild game, but instead chose to keep me chained like a vicious dog. Over the years, the culture that orbited my cell evolved into something more... accepting of my talents. Instead of shunning me because of their fear, they respected me. However, I soon realized that they were simply utilizing my powers for their own gain. It was then that I left - betrayed by my own kin (how ever loosely the word may apply to them) - when they were ready to grovel at my feet for my aid."

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Gro'chal nodded. He was sure she would betray him like everyone else, but it would not hurt to humor her. She would not even remember what he looked like the moment she stepped out of the room anyway, but would likely hear something on the news about a dangerous interstellar pirate and military regime leader that was rumored to coming to the Sol system.

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The trench-cloaked man continued to sit alone at a table near the fireplace. A gloved hand slowly shoveled gumbo beneath the dark shadow of his black fedora.

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Character Portrait: Gro'chal Deathweaver

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A slow agonizing creak resonated through the room as the front door opened on its own accord. Thunder shrieked and shook the building's foundation to its knees as lightning illuminated the silhouette of a dark figure that stood in the doorway. Eerie glowing blue eyes flashed from within the concealing shadow of a black fedora and trench coat. The roar of fierce rain echoed from behind the figure.

The cloaked man slowly and deliberately strode into the room. Water droplets formed small rivers and reservoirs as thick black boots hit the floor with a series of thuds. By all appearances, this was an ordinary man seeking shelter, a drink, and a hot meal. However, those more attuned to the spiritual and arcane would sense a tremendous amount of power that resonated from him. Those who listened closely would hear subtle yet dark whispers that echoed from the being. Dark power, of fire and ice, fear and shadow, death and chaos, clung to the man. An aura of fiery rage, dark hatred, cold sorrow, and endless suffering flowed from him.

"Hmm... Interesting..." he thought to himself as he saw the carnage before him.

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Character Portrait: Gro'chal Deathweaver

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With the same steady and intimidating stride, the trench-coated man made his way to an empty stool on the far side of the counter. The seat creaked beneath his weight. His shadowed face slowly rotated in each direction as he searched for a barkeeper. As he did so, he scanned the room and observed the other patrons.

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Character Portrait: Gro'chal Deathweaver

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Gro'chal glanced up at Zekil. His face was completely concealed beneath the dark fedora. It was then he heard the unmistakable cackle of insanity. He needed not look at her, for his consciousness was already peering within her mind and soul.