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The wandering Scoundrel, the relentless hunter.

0 · 480 views · located in [Central Exodyus] The Mountain Valleys

a character in “Zenith Rising”, as played by forgotten



Vyserys Black









Vyserys is a hard man of even harder features. Extended periods of time in the sun have left him darker than most men. He's tall, at 6'1 but hardly bulky, with a smooth and determined gait that men of ambition possess. Despite the harsh lines and sharp features, his eyes hold a continuous gleam; a secret that only he is privy to. Charcoal colored hair frames hazel eyes which he typically dresses to match. A black three piece suit of finest quality covers his athletic frame.

Chaotic Neutral


    Bounty Hunter
    Confidence Man


The Presentation:As with many who take on Vyse's line of work a multi-faceted personality insures not only survival, but work in the future. At times the scoundrel can be exceedingly charming and likeable, but it must never be mistaken as his true face. As a knight wears armor so too does the scoundrel don his masque: his features are his sword allowing him to disarm with a smile or pierce fatally with a gaze. Vyserys possesses many traits that people enjoy, at first glance, he is charismatic, witty, and insightful.

The Core: His inner self-- the being that comes to life during a struggle for life and death, is a far cry from the gentleman he presents to his clients. Greed drives Vyserys and his desire for power and wealth brushes the fine line of megalomania. He is a survivor at heart, but will risk the lives of any and all for the sake of his prize. His charming facade is little more than a tool he uses to manipulate those around him to do his bidding. Virtually everyone he meets is little more than a pawn he seeks to move in accordance with his schemes. At heart, he is a merciless autocrat who believes that fear is the most useful tool to control the common people, seeing it pointless to waste money on them.



    Clothing | The Cloth is spun from a special thread produced by the EWA (Exodian Alliance). It is Fire Retardant, Water Proof and extremely difficult to tear or cut with a blade.
      Three Piece Suit | Obsidian
      Matching Jacket
      Grey Collared Shirt
      Black Tie
      Black Boots

ImageDark Nation
Type Hand Gun | Scatter Gun | Machine Gun | Rifle
ExplanationThe Dark Nation is a semi-automatic, break loading revolver with three barrels and three cylinders. It is initially capable of holding 18 shells at once, having six chambers per cylinder. It is reloaded by a breaking mechanism that tilts the barrels and cylinders at an angle, allowing the ejection of spent cartridges and the placement of fresh rounds, ending with a flick of the wrist that snaps the barrels back into place. The Dark Nation is unique in that it is fully customizable and through customization, it can become lighter, more powerful, or hold more ammunition. Accessories such as a scope for extreme accuracy and automatic reloading mechanisms may also be equipped for added dependability.
    Innate(s)| Barrier: The Dark Nation possesses an internal power core of pure Crystallys that has been treated with Vyserys' energy. Upon contact with the scoundrel it will begin erecting a Barrier around his form. If left unchecked the barrier will strengthen itself and eventually grow to the point that it can absorb the energy from oncoming attacks and feed that energy into Vyserys.
    Reconstruct:The Dark Nation is capable of quick customization and can transform from a handgun to one of it's counterparts in a few seconds time.
    Energy Propulsion: Should the Dark Nation run out of bullets it is capable of channeling Vyserys' energy and expelling it, allowing it to operate as a 'Spell Gun' if need be.
    Grapple: The Dark Nation has a grappling hook attachment that is useful for containing enemies without killing them. It is constructed from Calerium and is extremely durable.

Urban Acrobatics -Combining reflex and strength, this ability allows the user to perform Urban Acrobatics in order to travel in less than conventional ways. Utilizing strength, balance, refined motor skills, agility, and a dash of grace and dedication creates a perfect mix of attributes for survival. Mastery of Ki/Chi-Biokinetics grants the user a literal burst of speed (Dash).

Smoke & Mirrors -This technique takes 'Reflexes' to the next level allowing the user to manipulate relatively small objects without being seen.Sometimes known as ''deft fingers'' or magic hands, dextrous fingers allows the user to baffle the target with 'magic' (illusions). Mastery of Ki/Chi-Shadow Blending allows the user to weave illusions from the shadows with Sleight of Hand.

Flicker-This is not an ability that allows an individual to teleport, or even move incomprehensibly fast. It simply combines high mobility with some disruption of visibility to conceal those movements. That in mind, if you can conceal your movement, it is common for this technique to allow very long-distance dashes before enemies may notice you.

Throw - People have been throwing things for as long as they've had arms, however the ability to throw with deadly precision and utilize a multitude of differing objects in a deadly fashion is not an average technique. This skill allows the user to turn the most mundane of things into weapons (for the most part.)
Eagle Eye- Having the ability to throw something is pointless if you can't hit anything. Without accuracy, a ranged weapon is pointless. This sub-skill insures the target is secure in the user's line of sight.
Coordination- The ability to move one's hand and in just the right location goes beyond simple dexterity. One can visualize the target, but such a skill is pointless without possessing the proper hand-to-eye coordination. This skill allows the user to aim and fire/throw his weapon upon the proper trajectory to hit his mark.

Racial Traits| As a Crystallaeth and currently the only one of his kind (currently known), Vyserys is a valuable tool of the EWA, one they do not typically enjoy employing. A Crystallaeth is, in essence, a human born with a Crystallys Potentia shard embedded within them. Effectively, granting Vyserys the capabilities of a Psion should he choose to utilize them. This, as well as the origin of the particular crystal and essence within him, makes him ideal for hunting Zenith.


A young Vyserys, serving the Keeper.

Vyserys and his mother moved to the Alliance's headquarters when the boy was little more than a toddler. She died before he could be named as an apprentice to any particular tradesman, so the boy took up with a band of pick pockets operating out of one of the Alliance's best known Establishments: The Brass Buckler. The owner, an old man known as the Keeper, fed the boys and gave them lodging and an education in exchange for their service. Many people throughout the city knew the Keeper's Brats to be information gatherer's and regular servants at the Tavern. What was not known, however, was that the Keeper trained select members of his Brats to serve as his personal assassins, Vyserys was one such youth. Vyserys was routinely used as an infiltrator and once served as the bodyguard of one of the city's Don's in order to destabilize the organization from within. The Keeper also served as the Alliance's Spymaster, serving to gather information throughout all of Exodyus, under his tutelage, Vyserys made a name for himself amongst the Alliance's higher ups and was eventually entered into the ranks of Section 7.

Vyserys as a young man.

Section 7 and beyond.

After several years of service, Vyserys was one of the few operative allowed to leave ranks on his own reconnaissance, but still remained beneath the Alliance's thumb.

Vyserys's most notable task out from under the Alliance's command was the rescue of Maya Weston, daughter of one of Exodyus's Chief Weapons Manufacturing firms. The successful rescue and subsequent justice brought to the kidnappers, earned Vyserys a place of great standing within the Alliance's inner circles...though many were unsettled by the power within him and it's devilish origins.


Vyserys Black—Journal Entry 1
He tells me many things, chief among them is that I must write, I must put my thoughts to parchment. I ask him "why" my favorite response to anything he tells me and he responds the same way every time, with a rap to my knuckles. He goes on about the importance of words and how our progeny will ever know of the suffering we endured, or how they will cope without our words to guide them. I think it's horse shit. I think the Old Man is sneaking in to read what I'm writing, to know what's in my head; just another measure of control he can exercise over me.

He is, if nothing, a man who enjoys power and perhaps that is his purpose for keeping me. I cannot speculate very far, for all I know of the man, for all the time I've spent as his student, he is still a stranger to me.

I dare not hazard a guess as to why he took me in, nor why he mourned the passing of my mother with greater passion than I. He has been relentless in his instruction, if not cruel, but I cannot help but find some measure of appreciation within myself for all of his efforts. Disregard the fact that a youth of my lineage would never be allowed into the Alliance’s caste system—never allowed to receive this sort of instructuon; a youth of my station would spend his time wasting away, or squiring to some pompous fool. Since I have been able he has instructed me in the arts of his trade, whatever his motives I am grateful, although I would rather be turned to wormsmeat than admit it.

Tonight I take to the rooftops for the first time. It will be dangerous, of that I've no doubt, but I am eager to put my training to the test.

Vyserys Black—Journal Entry 2
The Old Man took me on my first kill tonight. I do not think he enjoys it as much as he would have me believe, it is clear the path that he wishes me to follow and urges me down it with every waking breath. He wants a knife bereft of his grip to do his bidding and I do not fault him for it. Killing is a bloody business, one that leaves a man stained in more ways than any can imagine.

I've no doubt that the man deserved his death, but I still struggle with the morality of my profession. I enjoy the things that I do well; climbing, my knives...I fear that I will grow to enjoy this killing too much. I bore this man no ill will and yet I took a small measure of enjoyment watching him die in my arms. The power is undeniable. I feel as though the Guild itself is housed within me. To have control over the life and death of another, it is something I could easily become intoxicated with.

It frightens me and I know it frightens her.

Already she claims a side to me that she does not know. Such a thought alone rends the soul, that she could not know me in every facet as I know her. Tomorrow is my fifteenth nameday and the Keeper means to take me to some fete with the Alliance’s upper crust. I am to don my masque.

I asked the old man how I can dare look father in the eye with the son's blood still fresh on my blade. He does not answer, but his response is one that I am meant to mimic...feigned pity.

Vyserys Black—Journal Entry 3
The stories they tell you make it seem like nothing, as though it's a bare flea bite compared to the hero's quest. That he does these feats with such ease and with no adverse side effects. The stories are bullshit. Even now as as I seethe with rage and pain the man makes me write and with my battered appenge appendage, no less. He stands over me, reading. The hate I feel for him has never surfaced as blatantly as it has now. He watches me. Wants more description. He watches me with beady rat-fuck eyes. More noble...less commoner. He watches me with the apathetic eyes of a killer, a soulless monster who delights in the pain of other's. He expects I'll thank him one day, I've no doubt, but I shall not. This pain is unlike any I've ever felt.

I would prefer a cut or a scrape, a wound I can see, but this goes deeper--to my very bones. I had performed the task a hundred times, a simple leap over the roof top, but it had rained the night before and I had not prepared myself for that. My grip failed me and I fell, thank the Guild that there was a balcony for me to grab hold of. I knew the moment my fingers gave a sickening pop that something was wrong. He demands I explain my mistake. How I hate him. I'd put the full weight of my body on my right hand when I should have used both. This, he says, is my punishment for my error. This, he says, will prevent me from making the same mistake again.IminclinedI am inclined to say that the pain itself is enough of a reminder; he disagrees.

He brought me back to the safehouse and addressed my wounds. A dislocation of the first two digits on my right hand and a cracked bone upon the other two. He set the dislocations himself, applying further pressure to my fractured digits if I wailed in any way he deemed too childish. Tears rose, and still rise, to my eyes unbidden. I do not sob, I will not sob, it is what he wants. A reminder of my youth. I will not give it to you. He corrects me again. I will not give it to him. I am mortal. I am man. I cannot control the tears, the product of my body, but I can control my emotions. I will not lose myself in this pain. I will not give way to childish sobs. He watches to know me better, to understand me further. No man is more truthful than when they are in agony.

I hate him. I hate him for putting me through this. I hate him for this pain. I hate him for my mother. I hate him for this life. I hate him for denying me of all that I've ever wanted. I hate so much, so very very much.

I hate this world that bestows this fate upon it's people. I hate the damned Guild and most of all I hate myself. That I was weak, that I was foolish. He has agreed to send for a healer...and I hate him even more, but at last I may stop.

Vyserys Black—Journal Entry 4
He has sworn her hand to another’s.

It is with a terse finality that I compose this. I put pen to paper and yet the words flow unbidden. This will be my last entry into this book, for I have ceased to be. My outward turmoil, of which I can admit I fail at hiding, is not one hundredth of the torment I feel. It would degrade her to marry me now; so she can never truly know the depths of which I care for her. Not because she's beauty personified, or because the very heavens sing when she smiles, but because she is more myself than I could ever hope to be. Whatever force keeps us tethered to this world, whatever crafts our dreams and defines our souls, hers and mine are equal.

Since my life beneath his tutelage began, she has walked beside me. My heart did not begin to beat until the day I laid eyes upon her. Prior to that day my existence was ghoulish at best, a wandering husk without rhyme or reason.

He has to know of my feelings for her. Why, then does he curse me so? Of all the slights and torments I have endured, this is by far the worst.

If the whole of the world ceased to exist, and she remained, I could rest easy knowing that I would still continue to be; and if the world remained and the Guild themselves saw fit to take me into their flock, and she were torn from existence, the universe would become to me a thing most foreign.

I am her and she is me! She’s ever in my mind: not as a passing fancy or pleasant thought, moreso than I am a passing thought to myself.

I cannot bear to imagine her married to that fool. I would sooner see her dead than wed him. I pray one prayer each and every night, may she find no rest as long as I draw breath; I am the cause of this horrendous fate, I am the killer of my own soul, I would see her plague me long after death! The Keeper has ever said that the killer is plagued by their victims and I know that ghosts wander the earth. I pray that she is with me forevermore, in any shape. Let her tear my sanity apart, but do not leave me alone in this abysmal pit, where I can never find her! How can a man exist without his soul? How can he have a purpose without his life?

I look back at this and hate myself for the thought of her demise. I wish only for her happiness, but I would shake the planet’s axis to have her be wholly mine again.

“A man in love is a fool”, he says, then I would rather remain a fool for the rest of my days than live one moment without knowing that her heart beats for mine.

My fate is uncertain, but my destiny has always been her.

Transcript from the Alliance’s Files.
Interview with Subject 144322B—Vyserys Black.
Interviewer:Tell me about the bird.

Subject:My mother’s bird?

Interviewer:The one she left you.

Subject: He couldn’t fly, his wings had been clipped.

Interviewer:What happened to the bird?

Subject: I took care of him after she died. Fed him, took him to town with me. I sold everything I could, but I kept the bird. I did right by it, for her.

Interviewer:Go on.

Subject: My mother never took me to the Upper city, can you believe that? Not once. Anytime she had a reason to go, and she always had a reason to go, she left me at home with the bird. Wasn’t safe for me. So, after she died, I went to the Upper’s. I was a child…thought the bird might wanna see the sights, so I brought him along. He was just as excited as I was, squawked at all the pretties. See he had been underneath the city for so long, never allowed to see the sky, that when he finally got to see it, I just knew he loved it. Our favourite place to go was the Bridge he loved looking down at the city…I know how desperately he wanted to soar into the sky, but he was mine and he couldn’t fly. I never even let him walk on the edge of the bridge, kept him in a box.

Interviewer:What happened to the bird?

Subject: I started going to the Uppers every day. I’d sit there on that bride for hours, staring out at the city. One day some noble brats were having a go at me. They beat me pretty badly, spit on me, pissed on me. I laid there and took it until they reached for the box. I was a runt from the slums with no training, I couldn’t stop them and I knew, genuinely knew with every fibre of my being, that they were going to kill my bird.

Interviewer:What happened to the bird?

Subject: I threw the box over the bridge, into the water; it drowned.

Interviewer:So, mercy guided your arm...
Subject: You misunderstand me. I did not kill the bird to spare it a prolonged death at hateful hands. I killed it to deny those fucks the satisfaction.


So begins...

Vyserys's Story

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Character Portrait: Vyserys Character Portrait: Viktus
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The sun’s radiance was beyond compare, it’s blinding light crested the mountaintop and shone down on the refinery, glistening against its metallic surface. It was like something out of the Archives—the refinery; a testament to man’s commitment to survival, his willingness to do any and everything to insure his place in history. He had been told as a youth that places such as this existed, designed to harvest the innate power of the land itself, but it was nothing like the terrifying place Vyserys had imagined. Perhaps it was just the foolishness of youth, but he had imagined a dark structure, piercing the heavens, threatening to consume the sky itself once it had taken it’s fill from the earth.

The refinery was nothing to turn his nose at, that was to be sure, but it was hardly the beacon of darkness and evil his imagination had conjured. No, this place—for all it’s history and myth-- was still manmade, held together by pillars of stone, beams of steel and rivets of iron.

It was the refinery that had alerted the Knights to the problem at hand. Nothing living had disturbed the place for well over twenty years—whatever wards, or devices barred entry had done it’s job, but that had all changed. They had received word that the refinery was not only inhabited, but that it was operational.

Vyserys was content with the work he’d been doing thus far, his last few jobs had earned him a nice little nest egg and there were a few whores at the Brass Buckler who managed to distract him on those few nights he couldn’t stand to be alone with himself. Still, the Knights asked him for his assistance…and they asked rather roughly and who was he to deny Guild and Country of his work?

The hum of exhaust fans filled the refinery drowning out his footsteps over the marble floor. The inside of the refinery was startlingly artistic, designed with aesthetics foremost in mind. If he could have drowned out the sound of the massive fans, Vyserys would have mistaken the entry way for a citadel or some sort.

Just what did they use this place for? He wondered.

It was not until he passed through the lavish entry way and through a set of arched double doors that he could notice the mechanical aspects of the refinery. The sound of his footsteps clunking against metal stair flights was more noticeable not that he was further from the fans and fell in a steady rhythm as he descended into the belly of the proverbial beast.

The weight of Dark Nation strapped to his leg served as a reminder of it’s presence and added some comfort to his growing feeling of unease. The stairs gave way to a large control room, a massive glowing pillar standing at it’s center. He didn’t need to touch it to know that there was a definite warmth emanating from it. It was as though he could feel it radiating within his very soul, pulsating within his core being like a festering wound.

It’s been…tainted…” he said, reaching out but not daring to touch it. Could the Knights and the Justicars have been correct? The Alliance had been rather hush-hush in regards to what he was hunting, specifically—they’d only specified that it was ancient and evil…and he would recognize it the instant he felt it. His hand moved closer and closer to the glowing crystal pillar his eyes darting this way and that uncontrollably.

A shock of white light overwhelmed him, a terrifying roar filled his skull and for the briefest moment he could see the gargantuan eye of some primordial beast. His palm flew to his own bag heavy socket and pressed tight against it. It took him several deep breaths and a long moment to regain his composure.

Further inspection of the room revealed a large left in the corner and a small control box to operate it. Walking over, Vyserys pressed a dark button on the panel. Long arms crossed Vysery’s midsection to grip hold of his ribs as the ancient machinery started with a long and agonizing groan. It came to a halt with a cacophonous click and it felt as though the entirety of the refinery shook in response. Several catwalks stretched towards the center of the massive room, all leading to a massive monolith. Sculpted from stone and steel the massive winged humanoid possessed features too finely shaped and flawless to be of this world.

“It’s god…” a voice said, from the base of the massive monument. Vysery’sgaze leveled upon the speaker. He was tall, a good six inches taller than Vyserys and quite broad. Long azure locks fell about his massive shoulders, when he spoke again his gaze did not leave the statue.

“Not a, not a guildmember…” the man said with some measure of contempt, “but the god.” He clarified. “The creator of all things, good and evil, natural and unnatural, familiar and alien.” A large hand bypassed the blade at the man’s hip and touched the stone. “This is what awaits us…those of us chosen…we are all but part of the true god…”

As the hulking figure spoke, Vyserys moved along the catwalk, his eyes trailing to the black pit below, noting that there was nothing present should he topple over a railing.

How deep had that lift taken him? Just where in all of Guild’s creation was he?

“This is where he hid it…” the figure spoke into the air, forcing Vyserys to question whether or not the man even knew of his presence. “This is where it all began…the rebirth at least…at the crater. The mountains grew from that…”

Once he placed his feet near the end of the catwalk and on the circular base of the statue, Vyserys drew Dark Nation from its holster and leveled it at the figure’s skull. “Uh….huh…” he said. “Real informative…” There was no doubt about it, the hulking man was what he had been sent here to collect. His energy, it felt foreign and familiar at the same time-- a face he couldn’t put a name too.

The man slowly turned to peer at Vyserys, only then did the gun toting maverick notice the scar upon the large man’s face. Whoever the figure was, he’d been through a great many battles, or a great many beatings.

The taller man’s head tilted and his eyes roamed over Vyserys. “You…feel…” nostrils flared as he sniffed,” familiar.” Brow furrowed in consternation, the large figure seemingly peered past the muzzle of Vysery’s gun, fixing his eyes on the hunter’s own. “But you are not one of us…” For a moment, the figure seemed to stare at nothing. “No, he is definitely not one of ours.”

Who are you talking to and what are you doing here?” Vyserys demanded.

“You’re right. He must be eliminated…”

That’s a funny one,” Vyserys smiled, nodding towards the weapon in his grip.

The figure moved.

Vyserys fired.

And all of hell broke loose.