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Charoum

The God of War, Nightmares, and Anguish

0 · 324 views · located in Creation

a character in “The Pantheon: Post Cataclysm”, as played by CussingChild

Description

God Name: Charoum
Creed: "And so it shall be said that every war is born of his very nature, the evil in men's hearts and the evil that follows after. When they wake in cold sweats to the sound of their own screams and shadows playing about the walls, they come to realize that no soul can escape the battlefield, the carnage, the desolation. Every man and creature that peddles with him will be reborn in a pool of blood, drowning in terror and shame."
Title: Night Terror. The Wicked Seed.
Gender: Male
Alignment: Chaotic Evil.
Portfolios Governed: War, Nightmares, and Anguish.
God Appearance:

In his true form, Charoum is veiled in a graying black color of elegant design. He is covered in scaly leather, adorned with light metal, arranged in layers set apart from one another, with the metal branching out and creating the illusion of design to his being. A mask covers the lower half of a face hidden, where a drooping hood adorns the rest of his face in shadow. If this all were to be removed, it would be revealed that his skin is of a gentle gray color, his eyes the darkest black, yet the addition of smoky grays revealing an immense amount of depth to them. A saddening beautiful display of scars trailing the features of his face and body in deep, scraggly gashes a tone paler than the pigment of his skin. His wild and messy hair of the same black as his eyes. There would be a solemn contemplation about his being making his otherwise charming features that of pain and misunderstanding to the viewer. This form is 6'2" in stature, lean and toned in muscle composition.

Image


His second form, is a depiction of him by mortals. Charoum's mind is in constant struggle with the beast, known only as Ichabaud. This looming sixteen foot beast ripples with muscles and snarls with the anticipation of their next victim, they are composed of three heads, all of which are enemies united only by the body they're forced to share, and thusly the risk of them ripping themselves apart is equally as dire as the chance of them seeking a misplaced vengeance upon the world. The fur is knotted and gruff, dark in color. The skin thick and the fangs long and crooked in their arrangement about the massive jaws of Ichabaud. The eyes seemingly lifeless, wisps of torment about their shade.

Image



Personality: Charoum has been known to silently attend the battles of mortals, slaying without hesitation and without side, for no rhyme or reason. It can be noted that he shows little sign of enjoyment or even acknowledgment, but rather a cruel understanding of the constant fighting as fate. In company he is mostly quiet, but lacks any conception of being underhanded or sly, as if deceiving those around him is beneath him. It could be discovered that he is willing to be protective if the need were to arise, and though it's hardly played upon, he has an understanding of honour and respect in battle and conversation. He is mannerly and civil. Yet divided and outcast by the fact that by his nature he has conflicting goals and aspirations. Quick to battle and join the fray of a battle, he loses his sense of sides quickly and goes about it with an indifference. He is heavily conflicted within himself.

His lack of fear is often interpreted as courage, and his lean body and keen senses and speed make him an excellent combatant with an instinct for it. He's naturally agile and prefers to be confrontational in combat, as he does in conversation.

It could to the observational be noted that he's slightly anxious when it comes to civil conversation, nervous when it comes to formal forms of justice, and absent minded in a slow paced environment. Though he tends to step on rights and boundaries set by his kin, this is just for lack of understanding and an avid confusion.

Opinion of Mortals: Charoum can only create things he deems fit for war, as a child confused and unstable this often casts him into an unnoticeable darkness about himself. His people would reflect this, and his understanding of them and care would come in the form of emotionally neglectful and tough love, but love regardless. If he were of a mind, in subtle ways he appeals to his people and wishes to give them aid, though unfortunately this often comes with dark consequences and sometimes deadly endings.
God's Domain: N/A
God's Territory: N/A

Symbol(s): N/A

Special thanks to Wake for the template.
History

Mortals; N/A



Charoum's personal history; N/A

So begins...

Charoum's Story

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Character Portrait: Rodrauge Character Portrait: Charoum
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A single seed would fall from the sky, the recycled divinity of war fresh in the air would find it's way into the heart, the tormented dreams and disillusion of sleep, and the anguish. This seed was haunted as if it'd gone wrong, it's powerful shell cracked and damaged as if it had been slow to fall, the while it fell victim to turbulence in the confines of space. The rapid formation of constellations creating the utmost intensity in the space surrounding the world stage, the playground of the divines. It would land with a soft whisper of noise, though the presence of a new God setting another gear grinding about the realm, the presence no doubt known.

Charoum would break from his shell cloaked. Looking about the small crater quizzically, a vast one-sided wall of knowledge would encompass him, and yet basic principles were void. He knew not what to do, or what to say, not of the empty space surrounding him. But what was felt, was a massive amount of power from somewhere in the realm, not to far, and yet entirely to far to contemplate, more presence about further contributed to the confusion.

So it was decided to walk, he managed the crater with a gentle ease taking in his surroundings with understanding that came in bits and pieces, it was a slow but gradual process that lead him through a bout of absent action to the foot of a massive mountain arranged in some peculiar fashion when compared to the rest of the land, as if this one piece of the realm was touched.

He stared up expectantly, in deep thought over the integrity of a decision to investigate the vast power at the peak of the mountain. The sudden shaking of the ground threatening his balance for a moment before he conquered his composure, only to nearly fall once more with the deep shaking of the Realm. He'd raise an eyebrow beneath the hood before ascending the steep climb.

The setting changes from Creation to The Middle Realm

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Character Portrait: Charoum
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It was a long walk, everything slowly came together as Charoum let his thoughts roll out. His keen hearing was able pick up the many competing voices. He stopped and stared for a few moments in utter silence, though, one word struck out in shrill terror 'Murder,' he knew not who had said it, knew no one within the confines of the building. As far as he could tell the massive beings peering in had yet to acknowledge his presence, everyone seemed to be preoccupied and in utter dismay. If someone had been murdered in the room, perhaps it was best to go in and assist in some form or another, or perhaps it was rude to barge in unannounced. He didn't know, and he no longer had the desire to enter the room. Perhaps scrutiny or bewilderment or a lack of acknowledgement of his presence in the room would only serve to set him off. He didn't want enemies so soon, perhaps not even friends.

It seemed the smartest choice just to seek solitude, he looked back at the climb, but it wasn't a waste, no it gave him the time necessary to formulate a plan, and that was enough, surely. 'What an odd place this is, what a grave place to wake up in.' He gave a deep nod to no one in particular, but the door he saw in the distance as if acknowledging that his kin were there was enough.

With that he turned around and left, silently. He vanished with the illusion of shadows and low colors, he had no place in mind, he didn't know any particular place. But the conclusion was confusing, a forest dense with trees and growth, it made him somehow claustrophobic as if they were all eyes set upon him, he passed many forest dwellers on his way but gave no heed, only acknowledgment and small waves. Their power was somehow lesser, and yet it seemed as though their lifeforce was beautiful, and beauty and purity was everything in regards to power. 'Right?' His thoughts would ask the sudden question, suddenly conscious of the process by which they came to this conclusion. Whoever lived in these woods must be deeply protective and caring, and he found a deep respect there-in.

The next land was populated by a heavily civil group of purple skinned people, their ears done up in an odd fashion. They were odd to behold and regarded him with sideways glances and awe. He saw purity but realization, and was disappointed with the lack of innocence. They were a race more easily capable of war, their hearts whispered of it, in their civil and mannerly demeanor there was a hidden hatred and contempt. This was the first glimpse of the hearts of mortals. They were beautiful in their own way, and powerful in a profound manner, he knew that whoever had created these mortals was truly just in nature, and devout in their ways.

He then passed through a land where he found but a few isolated places that seemed to be where vast tunnels met the surface, he saw little life and didn't know what to expect of the land, he walked for ages until he reached an Ocean, he found beauty and deep innocence in the colors of the waters he crouched for a long while running his gloved hands through it as if it were treasure, though the mask would betray any hint of emotion. Hours passed the while that he experienced this.

Slowly he rose, he wanted beautiful things that would understand him as his unknown kin had created such powerful things. They would get the moon if they so desired, get whatever would please them to have, knowledge, prowess, acknowledgment. So with a few moments concentration he lifted his hand.. And slowly he went about creation.

The setting changes from The Middle Realm to Creation

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Character Portrait: Torsc and Riomu Character Portrait: Charoum
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Charoum


He watched, exhausted as the Aerumnan went about their activities, he'd adorned them in a civilization, created them around himself, proudly and hopeful. Smiling beneath his mask he watched as they raised building after building, learning quickly and adapting to the intense and desolate environment they had been given, immediately they began training, as many as them as they were, over head one of his favored beasts flew, it's heads seeming to compete for space. It was the first Brackland Hydra he had created and this favored beast bore a special reserve of power, carved from a piece of Charoum's own heart. It could spew illusion spells from each pair of jaws and was massive in comparison to the other four Hydra of it's kind. He gave this to his people wanting them to have something beautiful.

They quickly turned it into a beast of war, though admired and adored it was drawn to the same fate, and he saw it in the eyes of the Hydra named Nerien, in all of his brother's that they ached for it. His people ached for it as they trained, a sudden shock of sadness hit him and he turned away, leaving the bustling Aerumnan behind him.

Aerumnan


Cravenwell Kriton stood before an army, marching in rank they displayed the utmost discipline, they'd trained since the beginning of their lives, their young nation quickly had found out that they were in desperate need of basic necessities, as the leader it fell on his shoulders to achieve greatness for his people and procure these necessities at all costs. If he couldn't find it in their own lands he would have to take it.

His first order of business had been sending teams of two warriors North(Othuma's plot), South(Nylia's plot), and West(Empty Islands and then the Beta Amares/ Sacrican plot). Quickly filling out a plot of land he decided to explore the East with the first able bodied army of the Republic of Xanyit. This army had three hydra, one of which was his personal Hydra, Nerien. He himself had been blessed with a powerful sword that made enemies feel as though they were being enveloped in pain, deep emotional trauma that could bring a man to his knees weeping while war went on around him.

Three-thousand soldiers, five-hundred halberdiers, five-hundred archers, three-hundred cavalry, and a handful of Artshryn and Hyashrin. The first army and roughly 1/3 of the population of the young nation, a risky move, but one felt necessary as sustenance quickly dwindled. Their crops were failing and wild game was rare all except for the Kravulum, which were near and dear to the hearts of the Aerumnan.

They marched for days and past a river, into a land unknown. The beings here were odd and complex. The army upon finding these mortals made camp and simply waited, an imposing and intimidating sight that sent the beings searching for their leaders, soldiers, anything. Cravenwell marched about the camp awaiting the arrival of a general, soldier, anyone willing to discuss the terms of invasion.

(Vinno, my people marched into Riomu's northern claim).

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Character Portrait: Torsc and Riomu Character Portrait: Charoum
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Cryffyd

Cryffyd had a good feeling about today. It'd only been a month previous that he'd been selected by none other than Riomu herself to lead this band of some seven-hundred and fifty pioneers. One-hundred fifty Trow, One-hundred fifty Grimalkin, and One-hundred forty-nine Korrigan not counting himself. They'd brought with them a great deal of their civilization's technology to make the establishment of a colony easier. Three Fabricators, devices that pulled from the latent magical aura to create simple materials, like blocks of stone for building, hunks of metal for tools, or even slabs of meat for food. They'd brought the materials to create a proper Alchemy lab, so as to help set up a proper infrastructure. And, just in case any of the fabled beasts from The Wilds reared their ugly heads, they'd brought themselves a contingency of Mechanical Soldiers, enough that each and every man, woman, and child on this expedition could be surrounded by 7 bodyguards that possess the strength of ten men and know no fear or pain. Say what you would about the Di-Doch, but they were certainly infatuated with safety. And, given this, it seemed logical that they'd choose Cryffyd, He'd proved himself a capable warrior in his fights 'gainst the eldritch beasties 'neath the ground that threatened the city only years before the Seal came down, and he'd proven himself an able tactician in dealing with the rebellion that arised shortly after, instigated by those who felt that leaving Citadel was not a good idea. Such a decorated veteran would make a capable leader of the first wave of colonists sent out into this brave, new world. Little did he know that this would be tested sooner than he thought. While overseeing the construction of a Portal to an outpost in a cave near one of Citadel's underground entrances, he was informed by some of his scouts that some strange creatures had made camp about three Iles from their current position. Gathering up five of his trusted soldiers, each controlling ten Mechanical Soldiers with rings on their fingers, he and his men set off toward a plume of smoke rising from the distant treeline to investigate. Upon reaching the strange encampment, Cryffyd, from atop his Mechanised Chariot, a thing resembling a great iron cauldron atop steel legs like those of a spider, Cryffyd addressed these strange, ashen-skinned things.

"What be yer business here, Wilderkin?"

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Character Portrait: Torsc and Riomu Character Portrait: Charoum
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The camp would come apart slowly as the men prepared themselves for a fight, the disciplined nature of their composure making it seem routine as the fires were stomped out and the tents taken down, as they became one amassed unit behind the back of Cravenwell and several officers, Hydra flying in the air overseeing the army. His Kruvulum in it's large stature allowed him to stare the mortal in the eyes, noting his manner of speech was strange and thickly accented, he gave a nod of greeting before proceeding to answer.

His dark armor would clink as the horse would stride back and forth, his hair flowing behind him in dirty shades of red. The army would be a few hundred paces behind the conversing parties and yet the silence of such an amassed force set the field in a deep foreboding intensity. "Hello then, sir. Our business here is to invade your nation, I'm afraid." His voice would be even and respectful as if it were business rather than pleasure enticing them to appear on the lands.

"Eh... Wha? Ye'r here to invade? Why here, specifically?" Cryffyd would respond. The deep accent would cause the Aerumnan general to lapse a moment considering every syllable before being comfortable responding.

"Necessity, we lack sustenance to support ourselves and must find it elsewhere. Our lands, are surrounded by water to the North, South, and West, and so we marched East. These lands are the first we've come upon that have any beings in which to fight." The tone would remain solemn and exact.

"Well, why're ya so eager t'fight? We're only pioneers here ourselves. Ain't got much space back home, y'see. But, we're fine on materials, ye can help yerself to the land's bounty round 'ere. Blazes, ye might even be interested in taking one o' our fabricators off o' our hands. Got t'many as is, damn Clerk gave us another group's spare by mistake. If ye'r lackin' in food, metal, construction materials, that beastly thing'll take care o' ya. Eats through Promethium like nobody's business, but it goes a long way if ye'r in a pinch."

Cravenwell was taken aback by the display of kindness. He gave a solemn smile to the man, he wasn't even aware of the man's name and yet he found it in his heart to help strangers that came to his doorstep willing to crack skulls. This was beauty, and that being what could turn away an army of Aerumnan, made the general nod.

The Aerumnan marched back with one of these Fabricators and 1,000 head of wild game collected over a time , after exchanging words and pleasantries with the colonists and their leader Cryffyd they left letting the man know of the immense debt the Republic of Xanyit owed them for their kind deeds.

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Character Portrait: Crymadolos Character Portrait: Charoum
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Gellyk - son of Crymadolos
The City of Tragedy


The streets of the city had been mostly empty this day. The screeches of the Ayr had all but left the city and the majority of the Syskek population had hid within their half-finished huts and houses, leaving only those too young to be afraid and those with too little to lose to care. The only creatures who seemed oblivious to the tension caused by the arrival of the foreigners and their giant flying beasts were the Kyauk, who continued their work on the city as if indifferent to the arrival. Gellyk wasn’t pleased with this. Whatever lived to the north had clearly not been as safely far away as Gellyk thought. He had hoped to prepare the city adequately, but instead they had come while the city was only half finished. Not that it would have mattered, there was nothing in the city that could stand up against the flying beasts, safe for possibly Gellyk himself. With a grimace Gellyk admitted that even he did not felt confident about taking on one of those creatures and they had brought several with them, as if the strangely dressed and coloured army now squatting on their doorstep was not bad enough. Sure, numerically Gellyk had the advantage, even if it was a modest one, but judging from the reports he heard of the men riding their strange beasts his ‘army’ was no match for theirs.

But it seemed that for now at least, they had not come to raze their town to the ground. Which relieved Gellyk somewhat, who had feared just that result when the multi-headed creature flew over the city for the first time. But it was a slight relief, one soon plagued by new worries. Not only was a detachment of the strangers headed straight for him, half of the council he had appointed to manage the city had turned on him the moment the foreign army was within sight of the city. Cowards one and all. So afraid were they of the foreign army on their doorstep that they immediately hatched a half-baked plot to hand Gellyk’s head to them on a platter. Luckily they were as imcompetent as they were cowardly and Gellyk had sent them all off to the dungeons beneath the palace for death and worse. But that still left the strangers and their intentions.

Gellyk rolled his shoulders slightly, judging from the path they had taken, they would arrive in this particular area soon enough. He had arrayed his giant hulking Goyre around the slightly raised dias, both for protection and intimidation. But he doubted the second would work, these men did not have the smell of cowardice about them, judging from the way they boldly rode into town with only a fraction of their soldiers. Still, Gellyk was the son of a god and he commanded others capable of inflicting violence just as they did, it was best if they realised this straight away. With a grunt he looked at the remains of his council that remained loyal, arrayed before his dais. Loyal though they may be they did not seem inclined to stand with their king at this time. Gellyk sneered as he noted how they had positioned themselves to the sides, ensuring none of them would get in the way should the strangers and the beasts they rode decide to charge the dais. No matter, Gellyk was not afraid of these foreigners, he was the son of a god, he had no cause to fear them. He reminded himself of this fact again when he could see the ‘delegation’ approaching in the distance.

With a frown on his face he went over his approach to this situation. He would allow the riders to come close, though, not to close, observing them to see who their leader was. Once he picked the leader out, he would raise his voice, allowing it to fill the square as he spoke and ask a simple question: ”Why are you here?” Simple and straightforward. He imagined these foreigners with their audacity to enter the city as they have would appreciate that and he wasn’t about to give them the chance to voice their demands as if Gellyk was some back-alley whore waiting to be commanded.

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Character Portrait: Crymadolos Character Portrait: Charoum
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General Vrogthar


General Vrogthar would hold up his right hand, signalling with two fingers for the column to stop. He'd ride forward a few more paces grabbing the face mask of his helmet and lifting it so that his face would be visible. Thus far they'd been regarded with indifference and it'd be odd for him not to admit that this sudden speaking revived the nerve within him. The man before him was powerful, there was no doubt, you could tell by the confidence and disposition as he seemed to command massive beasts bustling about ready for a defense of the slightly raised platform.

”Why are you here?” The sudden booming echoing about the silence of the opening, half sprung up walls about here and there setting a strange tone about the soon to be battlefield. The massive gruesome looking beasts of which their numbers were overwhelming giving the state of his force. Based on the tone of this leader whose appearance was equally as macabre and wicked. In the very nature in which he presented himself to the detachment. It became clear what was necessary, the confidence was uncanny.

Not to mention the guardians as they seemed to be prepared already for a fight. He considered his choice to march into the city with only a handful of his force, perhaps it had been a mistake. No, this force had allowed them easy entry into the city and such a small force allows them mobility. He'd hold up his hand once more, and the clack of kruvulum hooves on the ground beneath would sound as they spanned out trying to gain position on the platform.

Moments would pass as the question hung in the air before Vrogthar answered, trying to allow the Hydra to come back around in it's second round. "We're here to take your city." Vrogthar would say it and immediately following his held up fingers would collapse in two sharp motions. The kruvulum would pound as he pulled his sword from it's sheathe charging forth with his men, the beasts would easily clear the small rise of the platform clashing with the massive Guardians who would give deep unsettling sounds of aggression.

A champion would be sent from his kruvulum, clashing with the ground he'd land in a roll on his shoulder as one of the Goyre swung his massive weapon, he'd fling himself into another roll beneath the swing coming up from it the champion would rise cutting a clean vertical cut in the back of the creature's leg separating the calf muscle into halves, it'd buckle forward with an inaudible grumbling shout, going to turn on it's good leg to swing with malice at the champion who would nimbly slink down to avoid the swing slashing a horizontal cut in the creatures thigh, it'd come down once more and the champion would swiftly slash it's neck open as it would raise it's arms as if to attack again, they would hesitate a moment in the air and then fall back as blood erupted from the wound, the champion would pull away as another of the guardians approached with a roar.

As one of the cavalry would go to collide, the Goyre would simply sweep with it's massive axe sending the rider a hurtling missile of bloody mess from the platform yards away, it'd go to grab the kruvulum and break it's neck before tossing it to the ground.

General Vrogthar would be bloodied as one of the fearsome guardians fell to the right of him, his sword buried in it's cracked mask of bone up to the hilt in the Goyre's skull. He narrowly avoided another as it came rushing forward, now without a weapon he narrowed his eyes looking around as the monster delivered a diagonal slash at his right shoulder. He'd dodge slinking to the right so that it crashed on empty space to his left. Grabbing the arm he'd jump up planting his feet in it's gut looking to use the momentum to knock the creature off it's feet, it would stand resistant, dropping it's weapons to wrench him from it's core. He'd struggle staring the creature in it's face as it held him up to look at him victoriously before it pulled him apart.

But that wasn't the case. A crash came from behind the Goyre and within a second a massive head erupted from behind finding it's mark on the guardian's mass, Vrogthar would fall as his opponent was whipped away, it's body sent flying as the Hydra flung it from it's jaws to find another victim. He would grit his teeth rising from his back.

Arrows would be loosed with rapid precision, a Goyre falling with several buried in it's torso, falling dead in it's throws of violence against anyone within reach of it's massive weapons. The Hydra would whip it's tail and attack with such fury, sending breath of flame on the guardians that seemed oblivious to the fact that they were quickly losing the upperhand.

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Character Portrait: Crymadolos Character Portrait: Charoum
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Gellyk - son of Crymadolos
The City of Tragedy


Before Gellyk could even register what was going on the square exploded in a maelstrom of violence. The square that had been calm, if filled with a foreboding sense of dread, was now a sight straight out of a story. Everywhere hulking beasts fought against pale warriors, left and right people were dying, their mournful death cries ignored by those around them in favour for the cries of war. Yet, Gellyk could not comprehend what had happened just moment before. They had come here to take this city? Gellyk was sure they had come here to raze it to the ground, or if not interested in destruction, to steal what supplies they could before going on their way again. But they were here on conquest? A sudden dread realization spread through Gellyk. They were after this city, not the people in it. The violence before him proved that. They cared nothing for Gellyk and the people of the city, they were simply in the way. With a sneer Gellyk stopped his theorizing on the foreigners objectives to see one of them make his way through the press, cutting his way through two Goyre as he rushed towards the dais Gellyk stood on.

The man closed the distance with remarkable speed, closing the distance between himself and Gellyk before Gellyk could react. He stood before Gellyk and their eyes locked, even as the man’s sword came swinging down. But Gellyk had no need for such archaic means of combat. With but a thought he send unbearable pain into the man, focusing on the arm wielding that sword. With a twisted smile Gellyk watched the man’s arm cramp up and buckle, before he dropped the sword he was holding. Gellyk could feel the same pain in his own arm, but cared nothing for it, a small price to pay to punish this fool. But to the man’s credit he did not scream, he did not so much as grunt at that pain. With a delighted grin he opened his mouth to speak, to taunt the man before squeezing the life from his body, but before words could come out he saw the man’s other arm jerk. With grace Gellyk had not seen before the man managed to catch his falling sword with his other arm and now moved to stab him. With a savage jerk Gellyk moved his body out of the way, even as he felt the sword cut through leather and flesh. A maniacal screech emerged from Gellyk’s throat as he drew his dagger and stabbed the man in the neck, repeating the motion multiple times as he carved open the man’s face even as he was falling.

Panting heavily at the sudden exertion he was forced to endure he watched as three more foreign warriors emerged from the heaving press of violence and death before him, neither intimidated by the savagery they must’ve witnessed or afraid of the man who perpetrated it. With murder in his eyes and the maniacal screech still fresh in his memory he unleashed the full potential of the power his father had bestowed upon him, filling their bodies as well as his own with pain unimaginable. Much to his delight, this time they did scream. A savage and maniacal grin spread across his mouth as he watched the men squirm in agony. He lifted his hands and gathered his power when suddenly a stinging sensation in his shoulder destroyed his concentration. His jerked his head around to see a knife of foreign make now jutting from his shoulder. Disbelieving Gellyk turning his attention to the three men before him to see one with an outstretched arm. Sudden rage exploded within Gellyk as he unleashed his power on the men. Raw force buffeted them and two were send of flying far beyond the battleground and the third, the one who had thrown the knife, was crushed into a bloody mess of mangled limbs where he stood.

For the third time now Gellyk turned his attention back to the battlefield. The giant beast was swooping down, devouring Goyre while another head burned them alive. The foreign warriors, who had nearly disappeared beneath the massive bodies of the Goyre were suddenly clearly visible as they cut a bloody swath through the Goyre. Gellyk fought the urge to laugh at this, at the absurdity that his warriors were being slaughtered. Calling upon the rest of the Goyre stationed throughout the city was meaningless. Even if they somehow managed to kill the warriors here, the ones outside the city would make short work out of all of them, Gellyk included. With a grimace he tore the knife from his shoulder and once more let his deep voice spread across the square, amplified with magic this time. They all needed to hear this. ”ENOUGH OF THIS !” Gellyk’s amplified voice boomed across the square. The Goyre, who had been possessed by savagery only moments before now suddenly stood still as if some force was holding their entire bodies frozen in place.

Gellyk could only hope it would be enough to halt the foreign warriors as well, for the next message was meant only for them. ”I… am willing to negotiate terms for the surrender of the city.” Gellyk said with a sneer, his back held straight. This city wasn’t worth dying for. And these foreigners presented certain… possibilities.

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Character Portrait: Crymadolos Character Portrait: Charoum
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General Vrogthar


He rose with heavy breathing pulling a sword he'd taken off of a fallen cavalrymen from the body of one of the Guardians, even in it's death it's mouth was open in anger as if still ready to destroy, the rest of the enemy stopped suddenly and his soldiers stopped accordingly, and they reacted as if stunned staring up into the before so outrageous monsters. They'd remained defensive after recovering their weapons, the nonchalance in which they went about tending to what wounded they managed to salvage a mirage.

The sights were savage as gnarled and malformed wounds covered the dead and hindered the wounded scarred for life in ways unprecedented before. Vrogthar was followed by a handful of soldiers as he wove between the dead, wounded, and still-life forms of the Goyre halted by the call of their King, their imposing forms wary and ready staring down at the activity before them. It would not go unnoticed that the horror that befell their brothers in arms was strongly regarded by the soldiers spanning out across the platform.

He would approach the dais looking up at the king, "It's a shame we came to this point." He would stop to straighten up pulling his helmet from his head and holding it at his side. "I'm sure we'll come to an agreement that will prove to benefit your people as well as my own." His smile would be small but lighthearted in nature and welcoming.

It would be silent before he recovered his manners, adding, "I'm Vrogthar Rilentaine, and what our people truly need is food.."

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Character Portrait: [NPC] Bartender Character Portrait: Crymadolos Character Portrait: Charoum
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Gellyk - son of Crymadolos
The City of Tragedy


Gellyk was more than a little baffled by the ease and nonchalance the foreigners acted now that the battle was over. Their arrogance infuriating. They had no idea their lives were but puppets in the hands of Gellyk and that right now at any moment he could… Gellyk halted his train of thought even as an ugly sneer crossed his features. Realizations such as the one he was handed here were ugly, but he wouldn’t be his father and deny the ugly truth, or hide away from it like a coward. He held no power now and the slight satisfaction that there might be a possibity to look into the dying eyes of the foreigner’s commander as he crushed the life out from him was no match to the suffering of watching whichever of these foreigners would then look into Gellyk’s eyes with the same satisfaction. Not to mention there was no real guarantee he could even call for the rest of his Goyre now. The foreigners were victorious, but no doubt wary of betrayal. A sudden gathering of additional warriors would send them rushing back to their army, cutting a blood swath through the city and leaving with minimal losses.

Conjecture about the possible endings of betraying these foreigners now were useless, even more so as the ending of such an act was obviously clear. No, he should focus on how to salvage this situation. Gellyk glared at the left overs of the battlefield. The foreigners were retrieving their wounded and the Kyauk in the vicinity had arrived to assist them, where they were allowed to. In other places they simply gathered the dead, treating the foreigners with surprising respect, whereas the Goyre were simply piled together for burning. Gellyk continued glaring as his ‘council’ of Syskek gathered around him, quarrelling amongst themselves of course, to watch the enemy commander approach them. Gellyk’s temper was not hidden and only barely contained when he commanded them. ”Leave. Now.” Confused glances were exchanged before they went scurrying back to their hiding holes. Following their departure the commander approached and expressed his regrets. His regrets. A vicious sneer appeared on Gellyk’s face even as he balled his fists until the knuckles turned white. Regret?! He had caused this! The damned fool came into the city and attacked at the first possible possibility and now he regretted it?! Gellyk grunted then, without bothering to hide his obvious distaste at the commander’s words, but made no mention. Defeat was his and the victorious decided on the details of whatever had occurred.

Gellyk continued to listen with no comment as the man offered platitudes. Only when the man stated his name and purpose Gellyk’s face light up slightly. They needed food? That’s all? Gellyk licked his teeth slightly as he considered the position. ”Rilentaine... I am Gellyk, king of the City of Tragedy, which you have so handily turned black with the blood of my warriors, and son of Crymadolos.” Gellyk didn’t bother to hide his bitterness as he added the utterly needless point of his warrior’s death. With a sigh his face lightened up some more. ”If it’s food you want, for the moment we have plenty. Half of my people don’t eat and the rest seem better at finding and producing it than they are at eating it.” Gellyk explained, if it’s food they wanted food they would get. But they weren’t here to raid a city just to take food for this army of theirs. There was no point, attacking a city with a hungry army was madness, even if there was no other source of food anywhere nearby. And he did mention his ‘people’, which Gellyk doubted was just this force here. ”Your army should be well fed. But I doubt you came here just to find food for them. Am I wrong in assuming you came here to feed more than just your soldiers? Because if I am, we could come to a mutually beneficial agreement.” Gellyk said, even as something approaching a smile crossed his mouth. In his head, wheels were turning and plans made. His army was weak and the next army to come knocking on his doorstep might not be as partial to just stopping with what they were doing and take food back with them. Gellyk smile grew wider when he spoke again, just barely a moment after he had ended his last sentence.

”As it happens, I have come to the dread discovery my army might not be capable of much more than looking intimidating should a force come here to eradicate us. Mutually beneficial you say? As it stands you need food, which I can provide… on a regular basis.” Gellyk said, what he was suggesting obvious, but he did not speak the words out loud. It would seem more like politeness to silently suggest that he offered the food in return for protection, rather than going out of his way to voice it. This Vrothgar might take it as a demand. Better he hears the suggestion and suggest it himself, he might even consider himself wise and political. Gellyk’s smile faded as he considered the possibility that perhaps his new foreign ‘friend’ would just take the food and completely ignore the idea Gellyk had so forcefully tried planting in his mind.

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General Vrogthar


Gellyk was noticeably distraught over his loss, and perhaps that was reasonable. But as far General Vrogthar was concerned he should be in good spirits, they had come and merely sought to win in combat, not hurt anyone or anything, not destroy their livelihood. He listened intently, and would appear to be unphased by the unwelcoming attitude, the acidic nature of this king. Like him or not, he commanded fierce warriors and himself had put down several men. He had earned their respect and would be treated as such until the man outright disrespected the General or his men.

He would nod in acknowledgement, the man seemed to be proposing some kind of alliance or deal. He would hesitate a moment as a man came forth, a soldier, bloodied and near dazed and yet alert and prepared, leaning over the man would whisper into the general's ear.

He himself was torn, he couldn't outright declare an alliance, Cravenwell hadn't approved such a thing, he looked out over the battlefield witnessing the gentle people of the city helping tend to their wounded, much to his amazement. It brought a smile to his face as he witnessed the beauty of it. Who know if this Gellyk were to be trusted or not, but he seemed genuine or at least seduced with the possibilities of a military alliance.

"Well, King Gellyk." He'd flick his tongue over his canines in consideration. "If you supply us with food, you will be considered a state of the Republic and under our protection." He figured the man however dastardly would care for his people and the ruling of his city. It looked as if he were doing well by it so far. "You can rule over your city however you wish, and no one will be harmed or assumed under our control." Perhaps he should try at intimidating the man.. No, it would serve to sever whatever connection they had made and the man no doubt would only grow more angry. "If you withdraw, we may be forced to return with harsh intentions.." Vrogthar's voice would be genuine and he would seem generally indifferent to whether or not he would have to fight once more. But he was no doubt hopeful that they could enter into the agreement.

He'd look for the man's approval of the gesture so that he could leave with his army.

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Character Portrait: Mathias Character Portrait: Crymadolos Character Portrait: Charoum
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Melek – Valeish acolyte to Mathias
Azermain – Streets


Melek was running through the streets of Azermaine, desperation and fear clinging to his back as he tried to make his way through the thick, concealing fog. Behind him the baying of hounds followed him, their intensity and loudness unnatural to Melek’s ears. Melek panted heavily, unable to catch even a few moments of rest as he ran for his life. He turned a corner, running as fast as he could before running straight into a wall hidden by the fog. Cold sweat ran down his back as he could hear the scratching of nails on the stone street behind him. Loud and deep panting, like that of some gigantic beast, emerged from the fog all around him. With a whimper Melek turned around and stared into the gigantic muzzle of an enormous white hound. He lifted his gaze slightly and then stared straight into the creature's four blood red eyes. A wordless scream emerged from Melek’s throat as the beast's maw suddenly opened wide and slammed shut around his neck.

The wordless cry continued as Melek shot up to sit up straight in his bed. Cold sweat streamed from his body and soiled his bed sheets. His eyes were wide open in terror and he was panting heavily. A nightmare. But not like his usual ones. Melek slowly moved his legs out of his bed and sat there for a few moments, as terror slowly faded away thanks to the sweet relief of reality. He needed to clean himself. With a grunt he got up out of bed and walked towards the small bucket of clean water he had prepared last night. After a few steps Melek froze. He could still feel the pain of the burn wounds on his leg. But no longer were they hampering his movement. He slowly looked down. His leg was as it had always been, but somehow, strength had returned to it. He slowly lifted his other leg to move all of his weight to the injured one. Nothing. Not even a stumble, or the sudden loss of all balance as the leg buckled beneath him. A small red drop fell down from his face and landed on the floor. It lay there, its bright colour in stark contrast to the cold grey of the ground. Stunned, Melek moved his hand across his face and felt strange wet streaks beneath his eyes. Suddenly fearful, he held his hand in front of his face to see it soiled with red. Blood. Melek surged out of his small chambers and rushed to the Idol. As he picked it up he could see the same bloody tears running down its face. He should be frightened, but somehow, he felt relief. His rituals had worked! The Idol had restored the strength of his leg! Melek once more surged into motion, quickly cleaning his face and throwing on his robes. He would have to find more sacrifices!

Melek moved up from the cellar where his chambers were and placed his hands on the heavy doors leading out of the temple. But when he made to push he could suddenly feel a large and heavy hand on his shoulder. Melek spun round, fear and anger twisting his face, and he looked straight into the stern eyes of the temple’s priest. For some reason, the old grouch’s face seemed somewhat kind now, his eyes though stern, filled with concern. And his hand, heavy and strong held Melek in place. Had the man always possessed such strength? When the priest suddenly spoke Melek stared him dead in the eyes. ”You won’t find the answer there, Melek.” Melek continued staring, dumbfounded and frightful. The priest seemed to notice his confusion and continued. ”I know where you go each evening, son. There are no answers in the depths of bottles. It is a road many have travelled and just as many have drowned.” Melek suddenly looked away. He tried stammering out an answer, but no words could make it past the fear that gripped his throat tight. Many moments passed, as Melek avoided the priest’s stern gaze. The priest then sighed and released his vice-like grip on Melek’s shoulder. ”Go then. Let this be the last night you flee this temple in terror. Come the morn, I shall help you fight your demons.” Melek grunted slightly when he heard the concern in the man’s voice, before turning and opening the doors of the temple. Gods, but it was a foggy night. It was like he had stepped out of the temple and straight back into his nightmare. With a frown Melek pressed on, too afraid to look back. Because of this, he did not notice the priest as the man stared straight at the satchel Melek carried, unknowing the priest knew of the Idol within.

After some confusion while navigating the streets concealed by the unnaturally thick fog Melek finally found the tavern he frequented. With a sigh he entered and took a look around. Nearly empty. He expected no less, this night carried with it a foul air. He slowly moved towards the bar and nodded to the bartender, who stood there lazily cleaning a glass with a rag. He seemed distracted. ”One of these days Melek, you’ll start making me feel guilty for peddling my wares to an acolyte.” The heavy-set man said, his voice somewhat raw and his eyes somewhat drooping, as if he had not had enough sleep. Melek shrugged slightly. ”What happened?” He asked, watching the bartender clean the same spot on the glass over and over again. ”Meleva disappeared. Even got them Iron Hounds in here to investigate.” The man sighed, before putting glass away. ”They say she might’ve just ran off with ‘er boyfriend or something. But Meleva wasn’t that kinda girl, y’know?” The man continued. Melek averted his eyes somewhat before responding. ”Mathias protect.” The bartender repeated what Melek said before setting down a glass infront of him. Melek took the glass and took a heavy swig, before turning his gaze towards the inside of his tavern. There was hardly anyone here. Only old Tolik, the giant of a man who came here each night drowning some horror only he knew, and Feren, the city guard who lived nearby and came here to avoid the complaining of his wife. ”It wasn’t them, y’know.” The bartender said, causing a shock of fear to shoot up Melek’s back, he quickly turned around and managed to stammer out a confused inquiry. The bartender simply shrugged. ”Ya were looking like some damn beast, sizing them up. Don’t worry, we all cared fer her. Them Iron Hounds will find her soon enough.” Melek shrugged in turn, he stammered of some apology of being tired before heading out, obviously in a hurry.

As Melek walked the streets he cursed himself quietly. Could he have been more suspicious? And worse, on a night like this there was no one out on the streets. The very air was oppressive, as if Mathias himself was watching them all with a disapproving glare. Or perhaps he was just staring at Melek. Suddenly, Melek caught movement in the corner of his eye, followed by the sound of a soft moan. Melek stood and stared for a moment, before heading into the direction of the sound. Slowly, the moaning became clearer, until he rounded a corner, where the moaning turned to soft giggling. In the fog, he could see two distinct shapes, slowly walking towards him. As they passed, the man and woman, holding each other affectionately, nodded at Melek, before continuing. He had found someone. No one was around but them and even if they were, this fog hid everything. A savage grin crossed Melek’s mouth. He slowly looked around and found a large piece of timber. As he picked it up, he could feel strength filling his muscles. He followed the pair around a corner and closed in. With two savage blows he knocked both out and threw the piece of timber away. His smile grew wider as he threw both the limp bodies over his shoulders, barely bothered by their weight, and set off towards the temple. He had found new sacrifices.

A few paces away, four blood red eyes stared at what had happened in the alley. They continued watching as the man in an acolyte’s robe slowly shuffled away with the pair of victims he had found. A few moments later the mournful howl of a beast unknown to the Valeish reverberated throughout the alleyways, even as the fog grew thicker.

---

Gellyk - son of Crymadolos
The City of Tragedy


Gellyk watched Vrogthar closely, taking in every detail he could. Unfortunately, the man seemed stoic to a fault. He gave nothing away for free and the few things Gellyk could discern were next to useless. When the nod came something did flicker to the surface. For a moment, the man who had seemed incapable of displaying anything but sincerity and decisiveness suddenly seemed indecisive, if only for a moment. Not perfect then, Gellyk thought with a slight smile, ignoring the fact his own face was much easier to read than the face of Vrogthar. When Vrogthar averted his gaze to observe the battlefield Gellyk took it as a minor victory on his part, childish though it may be. The foreigners seemed stoic and aloof at first sight, but it seemed they were not as unworldly as Gellyk had first suspected. This could be used.

The continued silence worried Gellyk, however. Each moment the man spend indecisive was a moment he came closer to denying the deal. The silence stretched on, impossibly so to Gellyk’s mind, whose rational thoughts confirmed only a few moments were passing. Suddenly, Vrogthar broke the silence. A sigh of relief escaped unbidden from Gellyk’s throat. The man approved. Gellyk rolled his shoulders slightly. He didn’t know much, or anything, of their republic, but with an army like theirs he was sure being a part of it would be much safer than facing the other terrors of this world alone. Gellyk made to speak, but was cut off when Vrogthar continued. "If you withdraw, we may be forced to return with harsh intentions.." It was clearly a threat. But somehow, Gellyk had trouble accepting it as such. It was almost as if the man spoke of the falling of rain after witnessing dark clouds overhead. It was a fact. And the harsh intentions would no doubt mean Gellyk’s days were numbered. Gellyk sneered, trying and only partially succeeding to hide the fearful gulp before he responded.

”Very well. We will become part of the republic and provide your people with food. I’ll have servants prepare carriages of supplies for your army and for wherever the rest of your people are.” Gellyk snapped his fingers and repeated his orders to one of the Syskek councillors who seemed to have shrunk four inches the moment he wandered close to the general. The man then scurried of, multiple Kyauk in hot pursuit to prepare the supplies for Vrogthar and his army. Gellyk rolled his shoulders again. ”I wish you well on your return journey, until then, the hospitality of my city, unfinished as it is, is yours for the taking.” Gellyk continued, quietly wishing the general and his army would be on their way as quickly as possible.

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Character Portrait: Nylia Character Portrait: Charoum
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The Aerumnan

The massive Hydra would hurtle through the sea, sending bubbles about their writhing bodies. The immense speed and ferocity sending the most fearsome sea creatures into the depths, long oddly fashioned ships would follow them. Sitting low and nonthreatening.. A man would pace the deck as he spoke with authority to the men seated in rows along the sides of the decks, low walls wouldn't be enough as the crashing waves sent foam upon their half bare bodies. Tightly bound muscle would glint with the foam as they constricted effortlessly, the immense strength of each man easing the ships forward against the crashing ocean.

"Heave! We must reach the shores before morning." A light drum made of a dark hide of some unknown animal would thrum near silent, as the whole of the amassed force of one hundred ships would seem meager and nonthreatening. The two massive Hydra in the air sticking to the clouds scouting the area below them. Nraslav Kriton, the prince himself was upon a ship situated in the middle. His armor would have fluent and beautiful design etched into the metal, he was fully armored with the exception of his helmet which he held at his right under his arm.

So the army of the Republic of Xanyit would slowly advance on the Divine Isle, looking to stealthily infiltrate whatever nation might preside there. The Brackland Hydra in the sky ready to devastate any amassed resistance on the shore, and the Abyssals prepared to tear apart any resistance on the open ocean.

Charoum

A handsome young but already scarred veteran, Aerumnan would row with gentle ease at the rhythm of the silent drums that set an intense fire to the air. A grim smile would play about his face, his skin awake with the healing tantalization of the ocean spray. His dark brooding eyes would stare out, his ragged thread pants damp, but a dagger secured at his black leather belt. Perhaps he were peculiar, his skills in battle surpassing plausible standards even set by the army of the Republic of Xanyit.

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Character Portrait: Nylia Character Portrait: Charoum
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The Aerumnan

The boats silently came upon the shore, stealthy warriors slipping into the water to help steer them to shore, hulls splitting the wet sand as an orderly disembarking of the army began, they could see no resistance, could see no amassed army or even defense. At first they feared that perhaps this land was void of life, but with closer inspection they found signs of inhabitants having been at the beach. The Brackland Hydra flew forward overhead, letting loose a wailing screech it'd long sense held in, perhaps to stir defenders or intimidate the natives.

Krystof Dravenclaw lead the force, was the first man upon the beach, already fully armored and plotting a defense against anything and everything that might come, the whole of their army was two-thousand, five-hundred men with two hydra, hardened and destructive.

Charoum

He had no idea what he'd be fighting, his body shook with a general excitement however at how his people had managed this, brought together and organized. It was beautiful, they were beautiful, even with how chaotic their society and ambitions were, here these men were marching and strategizing with a singular goal. He would stand behind that.

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Character Portrait: Othuma Character Portrait: Charoum
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The Azure Brood

Within the cold, windy plains of ice and snow carried about a sense of nothingness. Not much life is to be seen or had in these lands. Such things that the land's visitors would see. Though they would soon find out, they were not alone. A young dragon, old enough to fly, hunt, and fight scoured the land. He was rambunctious and eager to see the icy land. He had hoped to find prey, but was often disappointed that nothing seemed to live here. Though his luck would turn when he managed to spot as small speck of life on the ground. The Dragon flew lower to see two people, hopefully they are tasty.

The Dragon flew lower to the ground as he prepared to hunt. He was coming up as he flew over their heads. They may not have noticed him but would certainly know something passed them. He circled above them looking to gain a little bit of fun before he ate them. The Dragon did roar to alert them to his presence in hopes to frighten them. He then waited eagerly to see what his prey would do. Hopefully they would give chase.

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Character Portrait: Othuma Character Portrait: Charoum
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The Aerumnan: Redorin & Tryhre

The warriors pulled the furs closer about their bodies, they were massive and thick, clinging tightly to their masses. A thick snow clung to the stark blacks, their faces completely covered. Despite their wary walking along the icy plains of the North, swords would be clear at their backs presented with honor as they traveled on with an unwavering determination. Having spent weeks braving the cruel lands, they'd already lost a valued companion and burying him was a task of days with the conditions of the soil they'd found, his grave unmarked except for a rough collection of sticks at the head, standing triumphantly about the blade centered among them.

A fire was another matter of grave importance, and yet increasing difficulty. Their days were mixed as the snow and mist of wind hanging about the air confused the daylight and light of night. It was noticed how everything was more harsh the farther you trudged..- Few words would be uttered, furthering the impotence of their minds, muffled over short breaks where they'd check their direction or map a land mark, usually a simple change in the ground was all they could find, but mapping was something that must be afforded. As the icy planes would swallow them, suffocating every attempt at escaping.

They'd hardly seen the creature over head, the iced chill biting their skin every place not covered in inches of the furs, at the pit of the arm, elbows, knees and other key joints. As it swooped down and circled, however they'd exchange looks of excitement. Unsure of what it was exactly, but having found anything alive was a miracle in itself for the pair. Though as they could manage glimpses of it and finally heard the massive roar they knew, nearly immediate giving light shakes of their heads and pulling their blades from their sheathes and brandishing them before them defensively, as it cleared they'd go to pull some of the fur from their bodies to afford better movement, pulling it from their faces immediately to clear their vision.

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Character Portrait: Othuma Character Portrait: Charoum
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The Azure Brood

The Dragon was delighted that his prey began to take notice of him. He was excited at the prospect of a hunt. Though soon he grew disappointed as his prey stood guarded. He growled, apparently they need more intimidation. The Dragon swooped down low and flew right over there heads. He made a swift turn as he gave another mighty roar. This time they must be frightened! When he spun in the air he noticed they still didn't break away. They stood definitely as if they believe they stood a chance. This angered the young dragon. The first prey in days and they don't scatter!? What indignation!

The Dragon flew low again this time extending the sharp claws. It looked like he would snatched them of the ground. Yet he feigned the attempt as he quickly flew up over them. He hoped he would have psyched them out. Believing they would have run to avoid his claws. When he turned to see that they still stood he was finished. The Dragon flew down and landed with a thud. It roared to show it's anger as it appeared before them. If they won't run then they will face death sooner! The young dragon looked at them and with a snap of it's jaw went to bite one of the Aerumnan.

The warrior scouts quickly rolled to the side to avoid the rows of sharp teeth looking to tear into them. "Tryhre!" Shouted Redorin. "Run to it's side, we will strike while it tries to turn!" He shouted his strategy. The warriors ran on opposite sides and as the Dragon was indecisive of who to go after the warriors slashed the sides of the beast. But they managed to leave nicks as the dragon's scales proved an excellent armor. The dragon then whipped it's body around turning to Redorin as the tail swung over Tryhre's head. The Dragon snapped it's jaw once again as it went to bite Redorin. He quickly ducked to the side as he swung his sword. The Dragon quickly pulled it's head back before any more damage could be done.

From behind Tryhre slashed at the Dragon's back legs. Annoyed the Dragon whipped it's tail. Like a whip Tryhre could not manage to dodge it as he was sent flying. The Aerumnan soon landed inside a crevice in the ground. The blow mixed with the rough fall caused the unwilling scout to pass out. "Tryhre!" Redorin shouted. Seeing as the beast is determined to kill them, he was determined to fight him. Unafraid in the face of his enemy, he steady himself, as he let go of feeling and then charged the Dragon. He swung his sword leaving more nicks in the Dragons legs. The angered Ice Dragon then lifted his right front claw and attempted to slam it upon Redorin. Redorin quickly dodged the crushing blow. Though the Dragon was not yet done as it went for another bite. Redorin attempted the dodge but the Dragon grabbed hold of his arm. The Dragon the lifted Redorin off the ground. The beast smiled as it caught it's prey but like an Aerumnan he will fight until his last breath leaves his body.

Taking his free arm that held his sword, he furiously batted at the Dragon. The Dragon snorted in annoyance as it shook it's head. The fangs of the Dragon were tearing into the scout's arm, as he felt his flesh tear. Redorin grunted in pain but continued to swat at the Dragon. Then finally Redorin managed to stab into the gums of the Dragon. He then growled in pain as he dropped the Aerumnan to the ground. Redorin's arm was bleeding badly but he cannot give in. He stood to meet the Dragon but took it's left front claw and brought it down on him. Redorin would have been pinned if he didn't shove the sword through the Dragon's palm. The Dragon lifted it's leg, but already Redorin felt crushed. He felt internal pain as bones must have been broken. He turned to onto his stomach and coughed up blood. Before he could attempt to rise the Dragon bit down on his leg and lifted him off the ground once more. The pain was getting to him but he attempted to slash at the Dragon once more. But he was smart, choosing to go from the leg gave him adequate space to avoid retaliation. The Dragon the swung him around as the fangs tore into his leg. He then flipped him up in the air, causing Redorin to drop his sword. And the as the Aerumnan stared down into the Dragon's throat, he was enclosed with in it's mouth.

After chewed upon it's prey, spat out some of the clothing and metals he had on his body. After the Dragon finished eating it's prey it searched for the other one. Not knowing where Tryhe lied nor could he identify him thanks to the snow. The Dragon assumed he must have ran for it. The Young Dragon took off into the air and went to search for his next prey. As Tryhre came to a little while later. He rose from the snow to notice the wind had stopped for now. Tryhre climbed out of the crevice, sword in hand. He had hoped to see Redorin and the beast slain, but even he could see that was mere fantasy. When he arrived on the surface of the snow covered land. Tryhre walked a little ways to find the remains of his companion. He found his longsword near bloodied snow and knew his friend was lost. Tryhre honored his memory as he took his sword and buried into the ground. It was the best grave he could make. Seeing the Dragon was no where in sight, he figured best to return back. He needs to report to his people that life could be found here. Leaving the cold land behind him Tryhre would take the most hardest journey of his life.

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Character Portrait: Nylia Character Portrait: Adarani Character Portrait: Mathias Character Portrait: Charoum
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Charoum

Charoum parried an incoming sword with the blade of his own, sent away from the wielder as he stepped in delivering an accurate stab between two ribs of his opponent, splitting blue-purple skin and allowing blood to first erupt from the wound then give in droplets about the blade as it slid easily from the wound. He appeared as one of his mortals ofcourse, just another ashen warrior upon the battlefield, he gave a tap upon the ground sinking low as more of the warriors approached, letting loose their war cries just moments before he gave them death. They had fought well, a great army of the beings had marched to meet them in a wonderful show of force, demonstrating tactics and skill unlike any organism they'd yet to combat. They stirred with fear however upon the Hydra's efforts, as any army would. The massive beasts fell into their ranks, they struggled to reform but it was in vain as the Aerumnan took their slightest hesitation..

He walked slowly about the field, a stab wound in his lower torso seeping crimson, he gave a cough and the same liquid magnificence erupted from his throat, staining pale lips and sticking in a light film to the white of his teeth as he grinned victoriously. Every movement was an explosion of pain that made him certain of every kill he'd achieved. Thousands had died, but from here the Aerumnan would march on to conquer the whole of the area, bodies were strewn about the flat ground beneath their feet, the battle was all but over, most of the Aerumnan had fallen back to camp and tend to their planning and wounds, some stayed behind to lay to rest the enemy wounded.

Charoum slid to a crouch beside one of their men clutching an opened stomach, blood stuck true to the bits of armor and clothing there, but the putrid smell of infection was already audible, he gave a small shushing noise as the enemy looked up at him, with dark eyes filled with dismay. He wondered what kind of creatures these were, oddly they seemed almost alike his own, but the desire was different, odd. There was a small cry through broken lips before he fell completely silent, his heart pierced, a sickening sound as the blade was pulled free without a care as Charoum stood and moved on.

Later they were visited..

About the camp fire the men stirred in their eating, stopped the sharpening of their blades or the cleaning of their armor. They stood alert and the Hydras gave blood-curdling shrieks, before the general's tent landed several large winged creatures. Booming voices demanded them, spoke of punishment and of crimes. Charoum had swiftly moved to the head of the crowd, narrowing his eyes. The beings offended him gravely, he felt hurt rising within him, pulling his sword from it's sheathe he bounded forth. It stammered as he went to slash it speedily across the throat, ducking and going to deliver a blow with a large hammer, nimbly stepping into the blow with his previous momentum, he went for a stab at the underarm and with the lack of time given for reaction, the speedy monstrosity that had before held beauty wailed, almost a noble sob as the rest of the Aerumnan gave cries of war. The force were quickly outnumbered, even with their magic they managed only to fell a few of the ashen warriors before succumbing, being felled and burned with a rage that was only beat out by Charoum for their accusations. He slipped away immediately, determined to kill the one responsible for opposing him.

Setting

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Character Portrait: Othuma Character Portrait: Jute Character Portrait: Adarani Character Portrait: Mathias Character Portrait: Charoum
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The Valeish

It's been tough for the new Archbishop. The National Clergy has felt rather ashamed for the actions of Abercrombie. Especially with the King himself voicing his disappointment. The citizens have felt rather wary of the Church. Though Mortimer has shifted church interest from politics back to religion, many people demand more from their Archbishop. Despite Abercrombie's Scandal, the people felt at peace with the confidence and respect he commanded. Mortimer just wasn't the same man. It also didn't help that he lost the backing of the more influential houses. Especially since the illustrious Lord Asher washed his hands of Mortimer's administration. Many of the Houses went with him. But he wasn't fully alone. Lord Herrock and a few houses actually support Mortimer. Respecting him for returning to what matters most. Helping people affirm their faith in the Gods, and preserve Mathias's teachings.

It was in the main chapel that Mortimer was visited by one of the Divines. Creatures created by the Gods that are very close to their creators. Much like the Twenty-Six Archangels Mathias created. Phalis wasn't quite sure quite sure what to say. The fact a flying dog that talks, was speaking to him was enough to leave him speechless. It was congratulating him? Weird, a Divine would come all the way out here just for that. Then came a Divine Mortimer actually recognized, Ahuv. He's read the legends about the Blue Crane. An old being indeed, but Divines weren't like mortals. They don't age like he does. Like him the other Valeish were rather confused as well. The Clergymen and Bishops were indeed stunned by their arrival. As they mumbled prayers to the Gods while their presence remained. Hoping for good will. Unsure, Phalis Mortimer then clasped his hands together and bowed his head to the two. To show his respect.

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Kolson walked with Marilaiku, as she spoke of her family. Quite the lineage he thought. He wonder if the Valeish will ever be so grand in history. He laughed when appropriate and asked questions often. He was rather fond of the friendship they have made. Though when it may grow even closer than that, Kolson never thought of the day. Not because he found it unthinkable or horrid, but rather unexpected. In the meantime he heard about the Sacriran meeting with the King. Usually prominent Sacrirans meet with King Telondris, the matter serious indeed. "Yes, it will be good for all to have ill plots aside." Kolson concurred.

Then came the her niece she spoke rather highly off. Despite her notoriety. Kolson looked down and smile, "Tis' fine dear child." "It troubles me not." He then chuckled. He did enjoy children, after all he was a teacher. Kolson then met with the rest of her family. The very same prominent Sacrirans at the meeting. It was interesting to meet such people. They bowed to him and he felt rather fluttered. Only lords and kings are bowed to, it made him feel rather special. He then gave a sort of awkward bow in respect to those he met. Hoping it was customary.

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Othuma

There he sat upon his black, twisted throne. At the moment he knew not where Chrysalis lied but at the moment the mighty God of Death was visited upon. His visitors have come with purpose, purpose that will prove to be very valuable to Othuma. Othuma seeks to build an army, the very thing Chrysalis told him that will be able to enforce his rule upon others. The world will tremble if he had such might, the might found in numbers and weapons. The pieces were coming together. It first started when the Dragons found intruders upon the frozen lands. A race of warriors from the south. The Dragons did not understood what they spoke but knew they were skilled fighters.

Othuma visited the site of where one fell. He found the drifting soul amongst the frozen winds. Unable to carry on. Othuma could have helped him, but had other plans. He took the soul and twisted it, bound it to whatever remains he could find. Then created a monster no longer living, but not dead either. It was the first Draugen and it had no recollection of it's former life. Though looked forward to it's new one. It had the soul of the warrior and it sought conquest and plunder. It was a good first step. Though Othuma would need more souls.

It was later back in his dark palace of Stygia, that an opportunity arisen. Othuma was visited by a race of beings called Orcs. They wore the furs of bears, wolves, and other furry animals to protect them from the cold. They were directed by the Werebear tribes to this location. They sought an audience with Othuma. One of them stood out from the rest, the leader of their tribe, Nagresh Blackblood. "Lord Othuma, God of Death." "Chief Slayer and God Slayer." Nagresh spoke. "I am Nagresh Blackblood, leader of the Blackblood tribe." "I have come from the lands far to the south, past your frozen sea." "I seek an audience with you." Nagresh spoke. "Then speak Orc Chief and tell me what is your business." Othuma spoke his voice ever so indulgent.

Nagresh bared a crooked grin then spoke, "You see I came upon your lands and I do say sorry for the matter of business we've had with your people," he then paused, "We had not known they were your followers." "We did not kill though we did harm and destroyed, but they spoke of you and we know that you we wanted to see." Nagresh spoke. "Yes, I may forgive your transgressions if you tell me of your goals." Othuma slowly and eloquently spoke. "Yes lord, we wanted to meet the slayer of Durotan and his special godly ally." "We hated Durotan!" "He banished us from our homes!" "Because I disagreed with him and dishonored him greatly!" "I wanted revenge so desperately!" "Though when I arrived I saw what you did!" "You killed that wretch and the bastard child!" "You gave me what I always wanted!" "Now I want to repay you." Nagresh spoke rather excitedly.

Othuma rubbed his chin and hummed. "Hm, very well what payment do you have in mind?" Othuma asked. "I and my tribe shall hereby honor you!" "By pledging ourselves to you, my lord!" Nagresh did bow along with the entire nomadic tribe of orcs. "We are your servants!" Nagresh exclaimed. Othuma then gave a gleeful laugh. "Rise Nagresh Blackblood!" "Rise and be merry!" "You are accepted under my rule." "So long as you obey my every word, correct?" Othuma spoke as he stood and held out his arms in an encompassing manner. "Yes of course master!" Nagresh spoke very excitedly. They rose and saluted the God of Death. "Then you may make home in the city below, unless it's not to your liking?" Othuma asked. "No lord it will be great!" Nagresh spoke as they were dismissed.

Soon Othuma was visited by his first ally, Frostwing. The Ice Dragon assumed a humanoid form, much akin to the gods. He was tall and fair, his body slim and his hair long and white. His skin was pale and his eyes an ever paler blue. He was surrounded by an entourage of other dragons assuming similar form. As well as several true forms flying above his palace. "Frostwing." "What an excellent surprise." Othuma spoke addressing the Brood Father. "Greetings Lord Othuma." Frostwing bowed as his long, flowing blue robes, embroidered with golden trims and emblazoned with golden buttons, flowed like a waterfall. Upon his head was a pointed crown made of ice, signifying his kingship over the Blue Dragons, shifted towards Othuma. Then he stood upright and spoke, "I could not but help overhear of the Orcs binding to your will." Frostwing spoke his voice cold and chilling. "Yes, and quite the spectacle." Othuma spoke. "Yes and their numbers are larger that I would have expected to survive out in the cold." Frostwing commented.

"Truly, but huddling in numbers does provide warmth, which is what I suspect." Othuma spoke. "Tell me, are you here for dropping eaves or-?" Othuma asked. "Quite more my lord." "I present a similar gift." Frostwing spoke as he raised his arm. "Enter!" The Brood Father commanded. What came next was truly a spectacle. Dragons smaller than the ones outside, that walk on two legs, wearing armor and wielding weapons. They entered and kneeled before him. "The Dragonkin, spawn of my own that are more suited to a soldiers life." "They are yours and whatever of my kin I can spare to aid you." "I understand you wish for an army, I hope I have provided some relief to your desires." Frostwing spoke. "Most generous Frostwing, most generous indeed!" "I will use them well." Othuma spoke with a smile. Frostwing bowed, "Thank you my Lord." "I shall return to my palace as well." Frostwing then retired as one of the Dragons stayed behind.

"Greetings my lord." The female dragon spoke as she bowed. Dressed in similar garb though without a crown. "I am your messenger between the Azure Brood and yourself." "If you need anything from the Brood Father I shall relay the message." She spoke as she bowed and stood aside. Othuma then dismissed the Dragonkin. An army was forming right before him. Though one more crucial element was missing. He needed footsoldiers. Sure he could use these people, but Othuma had something more expendable in mind. Something he made not too long ago.