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ronin

Ronin is a dwarven lich, driven to dark deeds and a dismal eternity due to guilt and shame. He is a cleric of Nerull and a caster of forbidden shadow magic, raising the dead and embracing the darkness.

0 · 43 views · located in The Infinite Void

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

Description

Ronin has leathey, pale blue skin. Thick muscles coat his stout frame, thought his strength is not the most immediate danger. His eyes are completely black, obsidian and shimmering. They reflect the true nature of his power, for they are as dark as his insanity and unhallowed prayers. His right hand can sometimes not be seen through a veil of darkness, jutting out like a blade.

Personality

His insanity is not plainly seen until you reach into his lair. Once there, you notice that he is quite hospitable, if you bipass all of his many traps and chains. He often journies to the second level of his lair to the dining hall, where he orders his "children" to feed. His children are undead stolen from nearby mausoleums and dressed to resemble dwarven young. They have long, braided wigs and beards if male and are dressed like raggedy anne if female. He speaks to them and holds entire conversations, seeming to understand their grunts and gutteral howls. Though he has no clue what they speak, it feeds his delusion that he is in the days of his youth, speaking to his own daughters.

When he enters the town, he disguises himself using his magic helm. It takes on the appearance of a comb stuck into his slicked back and braided hair. He seems as he did in life; stout, powerfully built and kind. He laughs at any given chance, lightening the mood of any tavern he strolls into. He carries a scythe with him, but it is normal in the dwarven settlements because may of the dwarves are rural refugies who made their living off the land.

Equipment

Ronin carries a cube of force and a hat of disguise. His ordinary garb is a long black cloak, masking his obsidian full plate. When he is in disguiase, he wears a tan cotton vest and similar green sweatpants. He wears the same mud-covered slippers in both forms. He wears bandages wrapped supportively around his knuckles and up to his elbows.

History

What I scribbled down quickly one day. It isn't the best... not even close XP but it gives a pretty good idea.

History of the villain: Ronin started out as a peasant farmer in the village of Mountaindale. At the age of 40, this dwarf reached adulthood and was arranged to marry Lynda, a beauty among dwarves. Her long braided beard, frazzled locks, and boulder-like physique made her a perfect bride for Ronin. Eight years later, they had their first child, a girl named XXXXXXXX. One year later, their second child, XXXXX, was born. Over the course of their lives, Ronin taught his children how to efficient laborers and housewives to provide the best for their future families.

Once his children had grown, Ronin began to inquire about marriage. Both said they were ready, and Ronin recalled several very respectable young dwarves in the village. He inquired at the temples about these two young men, and was surprised to hear wonderful things about their pure lineage and their kind hearts. One strange thing, though, made Ronin wonder about the priests. When he had mentioned the two brothers, Van Lyssen and Van Lyctenstein, the priests’ eyes glazed over and they rubbed their necks slowly, speaking as if their minds were miles away. Soon his daughters were happily married to Van Lyssen and Van Lyctenstein and were living with eachother in a small cottage outside of Mountaindale.

One night, Ronin decided to bring an early birthday present for XXXXX, since it was her birthday the next day and he would be out in the fields. When he walked up the dimly lit path, he found all the lights out and the drapes pulled to. When he knocked, there was no answer. So, he retrieved a torch from one of the braziers and crept inside to see if anything was wrong. In the bedroom upstairs that the families shared, he found both of his daughters lying still, wide eyed and pale in the light of the moon and the dancing shadows of torch. He discovered to his horror that there were multiple bite marks scarring their once delicately muscled necks and discovered what he had done. The names. Van Lyssen. Van Lyctenstein. Similar to count in many stories. He thought it was coincidence when he met the kind and hauntingly charismatic pair. The priests had rubbed their concealed necks, a habit that he did not think anything of at the time. He remembered their wide-eyed, distant stares… as if someone or something was speaking through them.

He stole outside and grabbed several sharp planks from the wooden fence outside and shaped them into stakes lightly with his torch, scorching the edges slowly and flaking them into the desired shape. Then he entered the abode of his once-beautiful daughters and crept down the basement stairs. He masked the light of his torch with a pot from the kitchen held in front of it, searching the dancing and whispering shadows for the glint of blood-shot eyes and the flash of in-human fangs. What he found were two long, rectangular caskets in the deepest reaches of the large basement. He pried open the first lid, positioned a stake soundlessly, and plunged it into the heart of Van Lyssen. All that broke the silence was the almost silent panting of rage and the sliding of wood against muscle and bone. Ronin whipped around to stare at the other casket, sure that there would be standing an undead monstrosity, about to slay him like game. Instead, he padded noiselessly over to find a peacefully snoring Van Lyctenstein. That peaceful expression remained, though the snoring ceased. Such a contradictory blasphemy of the gods, thought Ronin, his rage subsiding.
When he ventured upstairs to where he had first found his daughters, he found the covers ruffled and them gone. At that point, he turned, stakes and torch raised. In the faint glimmer his torch’s dying flames, he caught sight of movement near the closet. He flung the torch over to the corner closest and heard a small, stifled hiss. It was as he feared. With a stake in each hand, he steeled himself for the hardest choice of his hundred-year life. Soon, the floor lay strewn with blood and his once-children lay slain, spikes driven through their hearts.

Ronin knew that this would not hold them permanently. So, he went to the basement and decapitated the insipid monstrosities that had ruined his children’s youthful existences. When he had finished, flames of his thrown torch roaring through the house, the vampires lay headless, their mouths stuffed with garlic and buried in the soil outside, soon to be forgotten.

Ronin locked the stakes in his daughter’s hearts in place with a metal belt around their breasts, burying each in the soil in his basement, before his wife awoke that night. He wept openly at the bodiless funeral held several days later and left that night on the largest adventure of his life (and death) to come, disappearing as quickly as had his daughters.

He slayed many monsters, saved many citizens from death until he discovered the powers of his prayers that had once cursed the gods. He seeked their guidance now, after being accepted into a holy order when he “cured” their small city of citizen-slaying bodaks, who could kill with a glance but could not surpass the iron will of a father who killed for love. One misted night he stalked a cloaked figure who had been skulking around neighborhood graveyards, because once thing had removed its hood briefly to scratch its wispy hair and leathery scalp in thought, staring into one open grave and then the next. He caught sight of the signs of foul magic and was determined to learn more. Unfortunately, that night would spell the end of thoughts that were purely his own. A nearby mausoleum opened as the cloaked figure entered, and Ronin slipped inside before the doors shut, turning all to impenetrable darkness.

Ronin woke later and found he was lying on a comfortable cot, beside a crackling fireplace carved into the moist stone wall beside him. He discovered all of his possessions were in his pack beside him and a makeshift door stood slightly ajar, with bloodshot eyes coldly observing him and a crooked smile playing around cracked, wide lips. Soon Ronin learned that this creature called himself a lich, and as he later sat in the chair opposite his captor’s desk he felt a small connection to this lost, pitiful soul. When Ronin rebelled at first sight and attempted to smite him with his prayers, he found the voices of his gods silent in his mind.

So begins...

ronin's Story