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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 · 2,220 views · located in Yggor's Island

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

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
.
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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The trench-coated man smiled wickedly beneath the shadow of his hat. It appeared that he and the woman were much alike. Gro'chal was a man scarred by decades of eternal suffering, cold sorrow, dark hatred, and fiery rage.

He looked up at Zekil and observed him for a moment. "I would inquire for a glass of brandy if you will... Zekil?" he paused. "Yes... Zekil... That is your name. Wait, no. There is another name... Locked behind a dark and violent past filled with despair, loathing, and agony... Ra... Raj... Rajan? No. Almost..."

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Gro'chal raised his eyebrow beneath the shadow of his fedora. He opened his hand slightly, and the glass skid across the counter into his grip. The space pirate grinned mischievously. "Ah... There it is... You should know, Zekil, that hiding in that form - bottling in your inner nature - will not accomplish anything in the long run."

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The trench-coated man let out a dark chuckle before looking directly at Zekil. Two faint blue orbs resonated with an eerie glow from the concealing shadows.

"Trust is your weakness..." his voice echoed into Zekil's mind. "You will be alone in the end, and all that you know will fade. It was the same for me. I tried to be kind, caring, helpful, and chain the vicious beast within, but in the end... Everyone I held dear betrayed me. They plot against usu even now... I see it within their minds and souls."

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He brought the glass up to his mouth and took a swig of the alcohol. The glass hit the counter with a clack. Gro'chal knew much more than the demon's true identity. As he continued to crawl, squirm, and dig around his mind, more and more information was revealed.

"They fear you, and what you are capable of... Have you not gazed into their eyes - into their souls? Their minds and hearts are but open books to me. As you pour drinks, they plot your demise out of that fear. Even the one man in my life I chose to call [i]friend betrayed me." The structure around them creaked and groaned slightly, and the liquid in his glass gradually solidified and froze.

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"Give it time..." he sighed before turning to the seat next to him. "Yes?... No, that will not be necessary... No you may not!... Well, why don't you go make yourself useful and watch the door for me?!..." he grunted. "Useless..."

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[color=green]The wail of several sirens zoomed down the road, followed by the screech of tires scarring the pavement. Tentative boots hit the ground as dozens of guns clicked and clacked. A long moment passed, and then gunfire thundered from outside the bar. It was coupled by several screams of agony and terror, the sound of crunching metal, an explosion, and a large object tumbling down the street.

The gunfire slowly dissipated.

Suddenly, the door was thrust open by the body of a man flying through the air. His frame collided with a table with a splintering crash. The man was dressed in a standard SWAT officer's uniform - body armor and all. With desperate hands he fumbled with a black assault weapon and pointed it toward the door.

Standing in the doorway was a man clad in a pitch black trench-coat. Eerie ghost-like glowing blue eyes flashed from within the concealing shadow of a dark fedora. The cloaked man slowly and deliberately strode into the room. His stride brimmed with rage and hatred towards the man that cowered on the ground. People 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.

Click click click!

The officer tossed the weapon aside and drew a black pistol with the flip of his wrist. BANG! With a thunderous boom the gun resonated throughout the bar. However, the trench-cloaked man was unfazed by the shot. Beneath the shadow of his fedora, he smiled wickedly, because inches from his chest hovered the projectile. It spun rapidly as it attempting to drill through an unseen object. The trench-coated man slowly rotated his fingers in a circle, and the bullet imitated the motion. He clenched his gloved hand, the bullet vanished,

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and the police officer's head snapped back and hit the floor with a thud. ((Continued))

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Without a word the figure strode further into the room and directed his path to an empty stool on the far side of the counter. His thick black boots hit the floor with a series of thuds. He looked back toward Violet. "Worry not." he said in a deep, dark, and intelligent voice. "That display should send them scurrying back into their holes for a few hours. They really should learn to not interrupt my routine like that... Very annoying."

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"Perhaps... because I am?" his voice resonated from the table behind Alix, where the man now sat. "The dividing line between reality and fabrication is quite thin." he then appeared beside Sosrioser. "Maybe in a dream... or a nightmare?" he chuckled darkly from his seat at the bar.

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"That would be ill advised... Sosrioser." he directed to the man without turning to face him. "It would end very badly for you... Many have tried to end me, but few have succeeded." he looked back at Alix. "Or maybe... gumbo?" he grinned mischievously beneath the shadow of his fedora.

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Gro'chal slowly nodded at Alix. "Here's the thing... You will always remember my presence, my name, and the aura that surrounds me, but never what I look like. It is like a dream that fades upon waking." he turned to Sosrioser and released a dark laugh as he heard the man's thoughts. "Please... I feel insulted. The Sith do not possess the same understanding of fear - the mind - as I do. Within moments they would be clawing out their eyes from the things I can show them." he then turned to face the stool beside him and nodded. "...Yes, I can smell it to... No, you may not disembowel him... Because I said so!... You can have your fun later."

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"Yes, Illuminous... I have been called insane... Also a sadistic homicidal psychopath on a fun day. The men in the white coats told me I was paranoid and schizophrenic, but I think they should stay with what they can comprehend..." he returned his attention to Sosrioser. "Don't believe me? How about I give you an example..."

The man would then begin to feel light tingling sensations across his skin, as if dozens of invisible insects and spiders were slowly crawling over him. It started at his feet and hands, and went inwards with agonizing slowness. From the corner of his eye, he would see a dark shadow and a set of glowing red eyes dancing along the peripherals of his vision.

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Gro'chal smiled lightly as his illusion began to work against the man. The imaginary insects would continue to crawl up his arm - unhindered by his foolish defense - and make their way up his pants and inside his shirt. A slow, deep, and sinister breathing resonated from behind his ear as a hand gently rested on his shoulder.

"He is behind you..." Gro'chal's voice whispered into his opposite ear. "Do not move.. Do not breath... and do not blink."

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Upon opening his eyes, Sosrioser would see a pair of ghostly glowing blue eyes just inches away from his own. They were mounted on an enormous water-mellow shaped cranium, and drilled straight into his soul. Its skin was black as coal, and carried a blueish gray tinge. Long webbed mandibles twitched slightly as Gro'chal's voice resonated into his mind.

"Gaze into my eyes, mortal..." he said, though his mouth gave no sign of speech. "Gaze into my eyes and know the meaning of fear.

Suddenly, the creature's maw opened as wide as the man's face, and uttered a soul-wrenching screech as every nightmare and near-death experience Sosrioser ever had would flash before his eyes. At the same time, the imaginary insects and arachnids would simultaneously sting and bite into his legs, arms, chest, back, and face.

Of course, only he would be able to see and hear this illusion, and everyone else would probably see the man writhing in terror and agony on the ground for no apparent reason while a trench-cloaked figure sat silently at the counter.

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The towering figure cackled maniacally within the man's mind. He stood about twice his height with his long, gangly, yet muscular limbs fully stretched out. Gripped in his webbed four-fingered hand was a long black staff. Impaled on the top was a small horned skull with a blue flame burning from the empty sockets.

With increased ferocity the imaginary scorpions, spiders, hornets, ants, and other bugs stung and tore into his flesh. Razor sharp claws of the unknown creature behind him sunk deeply into his shoulders. They were colder than the frozen bitten winds of Hoth, and seemed to bite into his very soul.

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Sosrioser would then see a creature of darkness climb on top of him. It was a living shadow with claw-like fingers the length of long daggers. Its maw was bestial and lined with several rows of razor sharp teeth. A long slimy purple tongue draped out of the mouth while glowing red bored into him with a gaze with was sadistic and murderous.

"Master says I can play now..." it cackled before racking its claws across his chest. Everyone would see the fabric part effortlessly in three bloodied stripes.

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The creature laughed as the darkness forming its body swirled and writhed. It attempted to grab the gun, crush it, and tear it out of the man's grip. Then it would rake its claws across his chest yet again before eying his abdomen hungrily. A glob of acid-like saliva fell from its maw as it licked its lips.

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"Nightgaunt! Heel!" [/b]Gro'chal[/b] growled at the shadow creature. "Killing him would be a waste... Some other time perhaps..."

With a growl, the shadow creature - Nightgaunt - snapped its maw just an inch from Sosrioser before vanishing in a puff of smoke.

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The trench-cloaked figure turned and glared at Cryoface through the concealing shadow of his black fedora. "Do not mistake my actions as consenting to your request." he calmly said with his deep, dark, and intelligent voice. "I simply do not wish for my pets to permanently break their toys when they still possess potential use."

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The building quietly groaned and creaked as if effected by some powerful unseen force. "Maybe some patrons enjoy making a gory mess, hmm?" he chuckled darkly before rising from his seat and heading toward the door.