Description
Physical Description: Torm is like many of the Kiffar race that had recently arrived and established themselves in Zenith. A human in most of they physical rights, save their almost unnaturally flowing and graceful movements. Torm himself seems to bear at around 6'1". Weighing in at an easy 166 pounds, much of his physical stature is muscle, with a healthy medium to maintain physical safety and balance. Torm wears his black, short hair in a slightly shaggy manner, letting it hang loosely without any restriction, and his eyes are a piercing blue, which he has grown quite fond of. Almost all of the mutations that the Kiffar experience, post Destruction, were internal, making certain that they work, biologically similarly to that of humans, but their mental and metaphysical capabilities were jacked up to an extreme many thought impossible by the logic of sheer improbability. Selective breeding and centuries of safety and discipline and forging have brought the race to their spacefaring status.
Personality: The Kiffar race have, through centuries of discovery and training, turned their emissaries, soldiers, and civilians alike, into disciplined men and women. Torm is fairly different. Despite his reliance on his training and the raw calculating intelligence he conducts himself with in most regular conversation, his conduct in a battle is far different. Unlike many of his kind, he draws from his passions, from his emotions. Not from anger, or from hate, or from bloodlust, but from his ability to enjoy a fight, no matter the circumstances. His typical initial stance is defensive, which means he will stonewall or dance around his opposition, gauging their physical, mental, and supernatural capabilities, before eventually switching to an offensive posture, if necessary, and tearing his opponent down. In terms of emotion outside of battle, he will often maintain his stone face, throwing up walls of emotion internally to avoid the probings of other mentalists, but keeping the cool, indifferent facade up for as long as it suits him.
PLEASE RESPECT THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN WRITER KNOWLEDGE AND CHARACTER KNOWLEDGE
Equipment & Abilities: Torm, as many of his kind, does not carry much with him in his travels. What he does carry is listed as such:
Robes: A set of simple, enshrouding robes. Meant to obscure the identity and act as a utility item for travel.
Pouch: A simple pouch he keeps attached to his belt beneath his robes, but over his clothes, carries a modest sum of the local currency, meant for food, board, and small comforts and amenities.
Psychoactive Emitter [PE] (Variant I): The weapon of choice for many of his kind, particularly for emissaries or guardians, due to its utility in battle, allowing for multiple types of grips and the size is comfortable. The Psychoactive Emitter is a set of circuitry and machinery, contained within a powered metal cylinder, with an emitter matrix in the center, which feeds of the wielder's latent psychic energies to generate a contained plasma tube. It takes a mentalist of a relatively decent strength to activate the weapon due to the concentration required to utilize it. The Omni-directional cutting blade generated by the emitter is often dependent on the emitter matrix's configuration. Torm's personal emitter is constructed and configured to generate an icy blue color, and the interior is waterproofed, allowing it to work properly during and after being submerged in water for long periods of time.
Telepathy: All Kiffar retain the ability to communicate telepathically with one-another, and to those with a strong willpower or presence of mind.
Kinetic: All Kiffar are telepaths and kineticists, meaning they have a great understanding of telekinesis and many of its other forms of energy manipulation, including, but not limited to, pyrokinesis and electrokinesis. Torm is a strong kineticist, meaning he is capable of manipulating many hostile forms of energy, magical or nonmagical, to defend himself.
Restorative Telepathy: Some Kiffar are trained to heal injuries through empathic mental energy. Pouring mental energy, along with physical energy, into a wound, to heal the damaged tissues and cells, this means that many Kiffar are also trained to be resilient toward poisons and toxins of a variety of types. Torm happens to be well-versed in the healing arts, as well as the ability to resist poisons and toxins.
Biological Enhancement: All Kiffar are required to have some talent with enhancing their bodies' capabilities through their draw of mental energy, taxing though the process may be if used in long periods of time, if used properly in short bursts, a Kiffar can enhance his or her physical strength, speed, agility, and endurance to far beyond natural levels. However, going too far overboard is hazardous, as the expenditure of so much energy so quickly can potentially result in fatigue or lethal exhaustion. Torm is masterfully-versed in this form of bodily mental manipulation.
Mental Prowess: As experienced psychics and telepaths, Kiffar are very strong psychologically, making it difficult to attack them mentally or dominate their minds and willpower with illusions or raw telepathic attack, making them a hard target for mages who specialize in illusion magic or aggressive mental domination.
Emotion Prediction: Many Kiffar can read the surface emotions of those around them, making it easier to discern lies and deception.
Post-Cognition: Torm has the rare ability to witness events as if he were there, based on contact with items of personal use or importance to others, this allows him to learn more based purely on contact with someone's possessions and, on rare occasions, allows the practitioner to wrench memories from other living beings' minds.
Historical Background: Torm was, like all children of his age, raised on the monastic fleet of the Kiffar, roaming space and being taught the history of his people, among other things. In his teenage years, he expressed his first signs of Post-Cognition, which was nurtured into his later years, where he showed great prowess as a warrior and duelist, as well as an apt negotiator and investigator. He was later posted to the Processional Guard, a set of talented warriors and negotiators meant to guard the emissaries of the Kiffar. He established himself as a worthy member of their society, and a capable warrior and negotiator, able to talk down many aggressors, and cut down those who would not listen, often taking on many as ten blade-wielding opponents at a time with just his single Variant I PE, when so many of his fellow Guardsmen favored the Variant V PE, which was more pike-like, and allow the wielder much more reach, and a solid weapon, should they be too mentally exhausted to activate their weapons' blades. Later on, Torm was promoted to Ambassador in the Procession, negotiated the arrival of the Kiffar on Earth, and their integration into Zenith. He also fought on the front lines of the Cold war, valiantly besting many Frostarian soldiers on the field of battle, before the treaty was created and signed.
So begins...
Hakon wanders erratically through the marketplace, taking the time to observe his surroundings better, though with a far greater emphasis on detail and caution, using a variety of clues in his environment to locate what he needed for where he wanted to go. He muses idly to himself "Now, if I were an entire industrial sector of a thriving metropolis, where would I be...?" before deciding to actually look up and locate the smoke clouds drifting away from the city, and deciding that following them to their source would be the best course of action for him. Likely more safe than the myriad of other things that could happen, should he choose a different path.
A short distance away, Torm was making his usual rounds. He had started up near the palace, making his way around the various sections of the city, and had decided that now was a good time to check around the Marketplace. If he were correct, some of his former comrades in the Processional Guard would be on patrol on-lend from the Kiffar Clan Procession to bolster the guards of Zenith after the casualties they sustained in the Cold War. Of course, the dead of the Kiffar only amounted to those lost on patrols, which numbered in the dozens, rather than the hundreds that Zenith itself had sustained. Thankfully, this meant that the population decline they would experience from the loss of even that many would be minor at worst, and the Kiffar would recover nicely. A stable population was an important aspect of their kind, making certain they always had enough people to fight, or protect the ships, or even to monitor the additional systems. Of course, there was always the White Initiative, but they hadn't used that protocol in centuries. The last population spike had been somewhere around thirty years ago by Earth time-tables, and even then, they had refused to activate it. But, putting the past out of his mind, Torm was brought back to reality as he sensed the presence of fellow Kiffar, as well as other psychics. He quickly scanned around, using both his sight and his mind, to locate the people he'd picked up on. And was pleasantly surprised to see at least three others of his kind, one warrior of the Cold War, and two fresh apprentices, young men and women who were completing what remained of their basic training come the end of their youth.
The thick crowd of the market slowed slightly in order to make a path for Jaek. He was large and intimidating. The few who had challenged him during his time in Zenith had half of the fame of a celebrity. Rumors, whispers and talks of his feats and habits were always laced into Zenithian conversations. As the Frost Giant passed by, donned in his armor, the citizens were pretty good about not staring. For the most part, they were becoming used to his presence but still careful. From a few men in the crowd he recieved passive glances from narrowed eyes and from the women he recieved sighs and long stares, giggles, whispers and suggestive waves.
Once the moment of him entering the marketplace passed, the bustling continued but Jaek still had his space. The only one who interrupted this was the little blue female quietly slipping about his legs. She was a child so she had no sexual interest in him. She was a growing pickpocket, her interest was simply to gain something from his person. Hopefully something good. His sparkling and shiny armor had made her pupils dilate and her fingers itch. As he moved, she stuck with him, examining him and trying to find pockets or shiny weapons, she even ran her soft blue fingers against his cool armor a few times in awe.
Not only did Jaek recieve whispers but so did Torm. His whispers were more restricted to curiosity and fear. Zenithians knew nothing about him or his race. Species in Zenith who had come from the endlessness of space didn't even know what planet or galaxy they were from. So for him, people stared a little too long and stayed out of his way.
Hakon picked up on the thundering roars of an angry man, and decided that now would be the best time for him to pick up the pace. He quickly departed from the marketplace, his gear and recently acquired food in-tow, and made his way for the industrial area. He was looking forward to the men, women, and...creatures in-between, he would meet and who among them would turn out to be his peers. Though that nagging doubt in the back of his head still told him that he shouldn't stay settle for too long, or she'd find him. Of course, he pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind, and focused more on getting out before whatever happens, happens.
A short distance away, Torm, having recently acknowledged the silence, stares, and whispers he received, simply continues his walk. Right up until he hears the screaming he'd not heard for at least a week, which made him sigh and shake his head. He reached out to his brethren, informing them that they should simply work to contain the situation. The Frostarian was not one to be fought when there were Apprentices around for him to capitalize on if he were to get desperate. With that said, the others departed, likely off to inform some of the more apt Kiffar sentinels, and Torm began to stride toward the howling and screaming, one hand on his weapon beneath his robes. Hopefully just his mere presence would be able to curb whatever madness was occurring. If not, he would simply strike for parts that could be mended.
As Torm walked toward the scene, he passed the vendor whose the Goblin had been slammed into. As he passed by, the Kiffar simply tossed a few coins the vendor's way, and picked up the cluster of fruits, laying them neatly in a pile in a receptacle he could recover them from without saying a word. Once that four seconds of telekinetics was done, he simply turned and moved for the actual crisis at hand. He quietly nudged his way through the group of people who were surrounding the Frostarian and the Guardsman. If anybody gave him any trouble, he'd just lift them into the air and hold them there until he was safely past them. Torm had little time for fun and games with these people. Particularly with a Zenithian Guard getting involved, and handling the situation so clumsily.
The Frostarian nearly rolled his eyes. "You're stubborn, boy. Don't risk your life over something as stupid as my dispute with a criminal gang you Guards haven't been able to deal with yourselves." Jaek stood up straight, easily dwarfing the young man, and took hold of guard's helmet to scoot him aside.
With the guard easily handled Jaek began his slow advance again on the troublesome Gremlin. He'd get information out of him first before possibly considering squeezing the little greenskin's head till it popped. He was so dialed in on getting his hands on Hemsley that he hadn't noticed the Kiffar enter the circle the marketplace-goers had made.
Torm quietly steps into the circle, and draws his Emitter, letting it show clearly as he approaches the two. He calmly says "Guardsman, stand down. I will handle Him." as he arrives finally. He takes a good, long look over Jaek, noting that time had hardly taken any toll on the Northerner. He questions "So, why are you out here, beating up Goblins now?" before punctuating it with a casual ignition of his Emitter's glowing, silvery-blue blade revealing his already-prepared weaponry. He says "And if you're planning on killing him, I will stop you. Your kind are not supposed to harm anyone in this city, not without being assaulted first. Frostarian relations are already tenuous, and I'm certain you would rather not have to suffer a public lynching." While he was speaking, he was whispering into the guard's mind, encouraging him to run, to go and find the more confident of his brothers, or to at least get out of the way. This was not a fight he would allow the helpless to participate in. And fear crippled far more viciously than any wound.
"Firstly," came the Nephilim's deep muffled tones. "He's a Gremlin. Secondly," the armored individual slowly turned to face the Kiffar. "I wasn't going to kill him, I was going to extract information from the little scoundrel. And thirdly," the Frostarian's carpi lamina shot out from his gauntlet with a SHING! in answer to the Kiffar's Emitter igniting. "I'm not with the Frostarian Tribes, those political stipulations do not apply to me as an independent party."
The guard gave a thankful, inward sigh as he heard Torm'S voice. Turning to see he was a Kiffar, he was more than relieved. He was joyous. Soon after, he heard the voice in his mind and, in a bit of awe, he slowly stepped back. When he gathered himself he started to urge the curious crowd to back away or better yet, leave. "Move along people! This is not something to stare at! You could possibly be seriously injured!" He urges, successfully thinning the crowd and, in turn, making more room for the upcoming battle.
Torm takes a single, calm step back, adjusting his footing and shrugging off his cloak, revealing his robed body and firm exterior "All the same, your race and their social standing means something to these people. And some of them are likely planning to use anything to get you into trouble." He grasps his emitter with both hands, assuming a combat stance "Simply going around killing people, scum and cowards though they may be, is no way to help anybody in the long-term. Even yourself." He was stalling, and he was fairly certain The Guard, a number of the people, and even Jaek himself, knew. He prepared himself mentally for what would be the Northerner's onslaught. From what he remembered, this one's fighting style was certainly something of a martial hurricane, relying on speed, strength, and the sturdiness of his equipment over technical prowess or precision. He hadn't seen what would happen if he pressed the Frostarian into a full defensive, but he doubted that Frostarian warriors themselves were even capable of being completely defensive without some form of shield. Torm would need to be fast, faster than he'd had to be in at least a month, and on his toes the entire time. One slip-up and he may just be caught in a situation he wouldn't be capable of recovering from.
The Frostarian could only shake his head. Was anyone even listening? "I'm going to interrogate the stupid little imp, not kill him." As long as he tells me all he knows, he added mentally. "The people here can do what they will to defame Frostaria's name, I am no citizen of it. The only thing I share now with the Father kingdom is my race, nothing more," he hissed. The Northerner, easily two or three heads taller than the Kiffar male, began to slowly advance towards the discombobulated Hemsley. "Talk all you wish, Kiffar. I'll continue on with my business unless you wish to stop me."
Torm quietly steps back in his way "Either way, you shouldn't try to do these things on your own." he argues, now trying to anger the Frostarian more than anything "I'm sure whatever he's done, he's done more than that. It'd be easier to take him in and join the interrogation. I would think you've garnered at least that much respect and influence. An unnecessarily vicious public interrogation like this would produce about as much in terms of results as shooting yourself in the foot." he adopts a much more relaxed pose. Now he was attempting to speak to the Northerner telepathically "But, if you're really that insistent on interrogating him on your own, I'm sure I can tie him down and we can have a fair sparring match. Some of these people want to see us fight, and call me crazy, I want to see just how much better we've gotten after the Cold War." if his message were to get through, he would actually smile cockily. As if to put emphasis on the whole thing, he lifted two fingers from his off-hand, and up floated the Gremlin, held aloft by a tether of his mind. Certainly high up enough that he were to drop him, the little man wouldn't be going very far, very soon. He genuinely wanted a fair fight, he hadn't had something even close to it with his own kin, or with anybody else Post-Cold War, and the silence and contemplation of his people after such a war bored him.
"Make way! Move citizens! Return to your daily activities at once!" a deep voice belowed. Members of the crowd gasped and the tallest beings could see the gleam and shimmer of the armor from a group of Zenithian guards. The crowd thinned as singular members of the group broke off and herded them away from the scene. From the center emerged a man in slim armor, a short sword at his hip and an engraved sun on his shoulder. Five of them actually. He was a pale-skinned Nymph. Dark brown hair was pushed back into handsome curls and his eyes were a piercing blue, his face set in stone as he placed his left hand on the hilt of his sword and raised his right to point to Hemsley.
His gaze flit from Jaek to Torm. "From what I understand this all started with that Goblin." His voice was loud and clear and needed no push to give it volume. This was natural. "Release him and take this fight elsewhere. Beings of your name should not sink to lowly brawls in the marketplace." His voice sunk at the word lowly, it dripping with disgust. Dropping his arm, he moved his right foot and started a pace to the left. "Especially not you Frostarian." His eyes narrowed. "...Not after the prowess your people displayed during the Cold War." He left a small silence before turning and pacing towards Torm but keeping his distance. His eyes glanced at the wide-eyed Hemsley. "And you. I don't know much of your people but I'm sure they do not condone behaviors such as this. Not after the hospitality of our King."
The man moves back to his position at the center of the two, his place making a triangle. Flexing his hands he clears his throat. "I am Lars. General and Captain of the 4th Tower Guard and I am ordering you two to leave the premises." He looks from one to the other.
The rain continued to patter down, tinking off of the armor and quietly thumping on the cloth of others, splashing into the puddles on the ground. The guards were blocking off this section of the market, directing rubber-neckers away with a quiet glare.
"U-Ummm, actually, I'm a Gremli-" Hemsley flinched at the sound of the guard's voice. For a pretty boy Nymph, this guy was pretty scary. He obviously meant business, almost more than the captain of the White Ravens did. He had to smile inwardly, however. Obviously the guardsman hadn't the slightest clue of what his people were known for. I mean, for crying out loud, thought Hemsley. I'm a Gremlin. People use our name to describe mischievous children.
Jaek had already been preparing to advance on Torm when a voice came booming across the Marketplace from the crowd. The Frostarian's helmeted head turned to the source of the sound to find the proclaimed Captain of the 4th Tower Guard. 'Tower Guard.' The title rang a bell. The guardsmen that manned the ramparts, the walls, and the towers. Good archers, excellent in confined space. At least that's what Jaek thought they were. Given his extended absences, he couldn't be bothered to remember anymore after the Cold War.
He scowled at his association with his race. He didn't exactly go around shouting his life's story in the streets, but surely people noticed he was an outcast, a loner, independent of his people. His race hadn't brought him any prestige when he first came here, only mystery and wonder. Now with an embassy in the city and his kin revered as the royal guards of Zeus himself it was like he couldn't escape the shadow Frostaria had cast over him.
Just the simple thought of this angered the mercenary further. "Change of the plans, Kiffar," he roared. "The Guardsman is mine." With near blinding burst of speed, the Frostarian was practically in Captain Lars' face in mere seconds. His wristblade wasn't intended for highly aggressive maneuvers, but he figured he'd throw the dear Captain off with a ferocious onslaught first off before he'd begin to use carpi lamina for what they were meant; precision.
Torm had hardly registered what the Captain had said, before the Frostarian's roaring charge led him right on past toward the guard captain. The Nymph had made a point, and it was fair enough. He was Kiffar, dammit! Calm, collected, and peaceful were the three words that described the core tenants of his peoples' philosophy. But none of that could stop what was happening. But he could at least abate this so they didn't get into any more trouble than they already were in.
Torm raises a hand "I don't think so." and lashes out at Jaek before he can strike the Guard Captain "Your opponent." But rather than unleash a full telekinetic strike, he leashed the Northerner, by the plates on his armor, and hauled him backwards with a mighty pull "Is me! he declares, mind steeled. The moment Jaek had come back, he was certain the Frostarian would be on him, he planned to meet him blow-for-blow, weapon a swirling flurry of strikes. A full-out assault to keep him occupied. All the while, he was speaking to the Nymph's mind "Stay back. He's enraged, nothing you can do without serious firepower can keep him down. Just let me fight him out of the city." he whispered.
And that's exactly what he was doing. Torm's entire barrage would be keyed to force the Northerner back toward the gates. Targeting him at his hands, in spots his armor couldn't cover as well, and other key points like his footwork. All of these strikes were his method of forcing Jaek to dodge and evade, to move rather than simply defend. If he could work in a throw at any point in their sequence, he certainly would. Anything keep him going toward the gate would make absolute priority for his current engagement strategy.
Lars put one foot back at the sound of the Frostarian's roar, his hand tightening on the hilt of his blade. When Jaek was breathing in his face, his ears catching the sound of it bouncing around in his helmet, his weapon was halfway out of the sheath. The guards who weren't creating the circle barrier were tensed and had drawn their weapons, an archer's bow notched. But, Lars' tense person relaxed a bit in confusion as the beast suddenly stopped his advance. His dark brows furrowed and he quickly looked at the Kiffar. "You..? Uh-" He went still again as he stared at Torm and listened to the voice in his head. "Telepathy..? Let my men stand by you incase of a need for assistance." He replies to Torm without moving his lips.
All the while, Hemsley had actually relaxed in his current position and was boredly watching the show. He'd actually started contimplating totally irrelevant things.
Jaek had just been about to introduce the lovely Nymph captain to his left fist when he felt himself freeze in motion. Had his armor not been so close to his body, practically part of his skin, he'd have rebounded within his own suit. "Grrr..." Lars could easily hear the Frostarian's discomfort.
The Nephilim soon felt himself being dragged backwards against his will. He protested, of course. Nobody told him what to do or where to go, especially through manipulative means such as this Kiffar's telekinesis. I always forget they have that.
Jaek thought about thrashing but decided against it. The Kiffar was his opponent now and he wanted a fight. The Frostarian decided this would provide him just the momentum he needed. Jaek managed to crouch down under the strain of the telekinesis and pushed off the ground with his feet, sending him flying back. "TORM!" he roared as he spiraled back at the Kiffar.
As soon as Jaek was flying, Torm was on him. Ready to enact his plan of attack, weapon in-hand. He leapt into the air, blade dragging a cyan streak after him. The Northerner's adjusted planning was cunning, and well-thought. Torm swung his weapon around, going for a cut at Jaek's torso with a horizontal swing, using his own enhanced body carry him through the motions of moving through the air.
Doubtless, either they would meet in the air, or he would strike the Frostarian. Either way, he'd have to work fast to put Jaek on his heels and pressure him "Keep watch, but keep a sizable distance. You've seen him move. This fight will be over much quicker, and undesirable, manner than I'd like if I keep having to waste energy throwing him around ineffectually to keep him from gutting your men. My kin will be along shortly, and will intervene if he gets too far out of hand. But for now, get the gate open so I don't just press him up against it and give him an avenue for a counter-attack!" he replied, whispering to the Nymph's mind. Hopefully his Kin actually would be coming soon, otherwise this fight, should it turn against him too greatly, may end poorly for a certain couple people.
Lars turned and barked the order to his men, making signals with his hand. "Stay far but keep your eyes open! Archer! Make sure yours are always open." He stabs the man with his eyes, the being straightening and giving a firm nod. Giving a jerk of his head, the 4 men stepped forwards, weapons at the ready.
The Nymph then turned to Torm "I'll go now! Good luck to you!" He watches the combat with wide eyes. Maybe when he calms down, I can have a chat with that beast.. he smirks. Turning his back, he gives a few more orders to his remaining men before taking two of them and starting a brisk pace to the gates of Zenith.
Jaek could plainly see Torm had already anticipated this sort of move and had already begun to advance on him for a strike. His carpi laminae were made of the same material of his armor, meaning that they should be able to parry his weapon for the most part. If they cut through, he'd be in trouble. Being weaponless was an issue for sure, but it didn't make the position impossible. Frostarian's were deceivingly agile.
In an instant, the clash of weapons could be heard. The distinctive hiss of the Kiffar's blade making contact with something solid rang out loudly like boiling water as it dissipated. Jaek released his other wristblade with its own distinctive metallic SHINK and slammed it onto the Kiffar's blade in his parry. With a surge of bellum sanguis flowing through his veins he gave a shove to throw Torm off and follow it up with a roundhouse kick to the ribs.
As their weapons clashed, Torm was grinning madly, allowing himself to perform the small task that many of his brothers-at-arms would never know gave him such power in comparison. He enjoyed the fight, but did not allow it to overtake him in a bloodlusting frenzy. He'd learned if he allowed the more positive emotions, love, passion, and joy among them, to overtake him during any fight, he'd perform far more excellently than most. It was effective, and afforded him much greater mental agility for a fight, while allowing him to keep his presence of mind.
Torm was thrown off for just a moment by the Frostarian's shove, but allowed the momentum to carry him. Tumbling backwards via a quick handstand with his weapon-hand to catch himself without falling. He raises his free hand up, palm out, inches away from his opponent's outstretched leg where the kick should have met his ribs, slightly off to the right and unleashed a second telekinetic surge. Slamming Jaek in the chest with more than enough force to send him off his feet and flying for a good few feet while he got up to chase after, Torm was fully prepared to press this split-second edge. To keep pushing him back toward the gates.