Current Character Description - Vassago Daethe

Upon this Wizard the battle marks still adorn him, of great height this Titan looms over most of his enemies. Pale white eyes make this figure look almost dead like with black hair that appears to have red streaks running through it, wonder comes over you as you ponder how this figure appears to be alive, but within he holds great power. Standing closely to eleven feet he holds a great presence that can't be disturbed by any creature within this realm. Dangling upon his neck are blood soaked ears on a light string that come from his enemies that have fallen to the ground in despair and without any purpose. Around his neck can also be found a symbol of Long Death that dangles near his heart, for what's near his heart he holds greatest to him.

A Response[Part.1-2]

A meteor shattered besides him, mere feet from the dancing boy. The gleam of silk flashed in the murky light of nearby torches, a brilliant blue kimono creating shallow facades of the true physical being. "ALMOST!" snarled Wildren, his fanged maw gleaming with sweat. The archmage snapped his thumb and index finger, producing a dazzling array of magic missles that sped furiously towards the barely visible opponent. A few of them were led astray by the shadowy figures swirling through the dungeon, these exploded into starbursts as they were expended on the oily black onyx used throughout the keep. Two managed to find their true target, causing his magical defenses to spark and flame in protest. In retaliation, both hands were raised, summoning a band of icy blue elementals from a nether gate. "You know, your getting better," Kyarn said, dodging an errant lightning blast. "You've managed to destroy half my defenses, and you've still got almost a full spell repetoire. That is unless you've been changing that too." He turned around in place and cast off sparkling dust in four different directions. "Yaggla'roth Velshooooooom," the boy mumbled, and a wall of force marred by a single gaping hole appeared between the wizards. Wildren snickered triumphantly, flapping his tattered black wings to bring himself to the level of the hole, and releasing a summoning of his own, that of a minor death armed with a horrid looking lochaber axe. The skull of the creature split apart, revealing a skeletal grin as the creature lunged at the child within. Kyarn, with eyes still closed, looked to all as if he did not even acknowledge the powerful magical being that closed in on him by the second. Deep concentration was neccesary now, the time for second guessing and procrastination was gone. The lochaber axe sliced cleanly through the prone form's neck, causing black blood to gush through the wound and splatter across the cobblestone and newly created wall of force. Wildren eyed the dead body suspiciously, his hand drifting down to his weapon belt. "...Black blood?... But the boy is human..." Wildren thought, his suspicions growing stronger and stronger. "Damn." With frantic response, he spun around as quickly as his u upward arc of his weapon only barely parried the blinding white blade of kyarn's primary katana, a purple flickering light engulfed the combatants as Wildren's sword was thrown violently from his hand. The attack was defeated, but the older and wiser archmage knew that the child never went into battle with only one blade. He could only watch as the second sword followed the second one, only slightly more horizontal in cut, slicing off his weapon belt and producing the very amusing spectacle of a archmage of strife dressed only in a pair of underwear beneath the waist. Kyarn hit the floor almost as soon as the pants did, laughing uncontrollably. Wildren's skeletal creature managed a smile of it's own, but was soon dismissed by the grumbling archmage. "Your only mad because my last spell was better then yours, a simulacrum spell with demonic components drawn through a everlast contingency spell." Wildren swore again, as he used a simple mending spell upon his belt. With a click the belt was back in place, but his pride had been moved down a notch. He would have to remember to return the favor. Soon. For now, he had much to discuss with his fellow strifelord, the time for practice was over. After a short afternoon recess, the leaders sat lazily in Kyarn's bed chambers, along with a few other bored cyricists. Silverblade argued heatedly with Vassago over some trick dice, it was a mute point anyways, both of them had been seen using levitation spells over the dice and it would have been an idiot's point of view to even bother trying to right the wrong. Kyarn looked over at Wildren and began the meeting. "What's been up? How's your daughter?" Wildren snarled and glared at the boy. "I don't have any daughter, and if I did she would have been used for last month's company barbeque anyways. What is the meaning of this?" The boy laughed and held his hands up defensively. "It was only a jest wildy, some of us still have humor left somewhere in our skulls. What i meant to talk to you about are these scurrying little rodents that seem to have some preconceived idea that they can toss words around without us acknowledging them." Wildren poured himself a glass of vodka and nodded in agreement. "You do of course know what im hinting at yes? give me a sign." Wildren once again only nodded and leaned back in his chair a little more. "K, you mean the Black Roses? That Turiya guy?" Kyarn nodded. "He's not even an issue. All of them combined still aren't an issue," Wildren said with a very end of conversation tone of voice. Kyarn shook his head and looked back at him, his wide shiny eyes betraying his insatiable lust for intrigue. "That's not true, they speak badly about our clan members, and boast unrespectably of their own strength. You know the rules, heretics live only as long as they keep their mouth's shut, well uh.. they live longer anyways." Kyarn muttered some words lazily and created a circle with the curves of his hands. The boy then motioned for Wildren and the other strifers to look into the image that appeared. A typical dark elf sat deep within the shadows of a city dwelling, the architecture of the building looking very similar to those in Westbridge, one of the largest cities in these parts of the realms. A smug look upon his face was ordinary to the extreme, all drow seemed to have some idea that they were somehow better then those they were around. Infact, most of the picture seemed ordinary as well, minus the fact that this drow had decided to walk the surface. "This is Turiya," Kyarn said with the slightest hint of disdain. He waved his hand over the surface of a nearby half drank chalice, the vodka within changing to show pictures of other dark elves residing on the surface. "There's most of the others, you can view them as you wish, i'll keep the enchantment up as long as you'd like." The others purveyed the scenery for a few minutes, the wizards using minor enchantments to write notes without actually writing notes at all. Zhenance raised his hand. "Yea?" Wildren nodded towards the priest with his usual subterfuge, his crooked jaws looking menacing for no apparent reason. "They all look the same, why don't we just kill as many dark elves as possible, it's not like we'd lose much in doing so." Kyarn giggled and urged his comrade to respond. "Because of alot of reasons, most of them bad. Let's just focus on them right now, we'll leave that thought for another meeting." Kyarn shrugged with a yawn and a sigh, and stood up to his full 5 foot 4 inches. "If they cause you problems, kill them. If they don't, talk to them. Find out what they're up too and whether or not they would be willing to rescind all those petty little remarks they have made. We might have use for them, even if you don't think so." With a snap, the boy was gone, leaving only the slight mark of brimstone upon the ground. [The End... for now] 

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Shattered Keep [Part.1-3]

As the fire elemental sat in the corner of his bare room, the flames flickering across his form made long ghostly shadows, dancing like demons upon the walls. His eyes never blinked as they were not real eyes, his form never moved, for it was not a real form. Minutes passed, and hours, and still it sat their unmoving. Simmer stirred as he felt a presence staring at him from the opposite corner of the room. In a slow seething voice, well worded but thick with annoyance, the elemental acknowledged the warrior. "What reason do you have to enter this chamber." The words echoed like knells of doom to the young warrior. Being blessed by the One saved his life that day, for he did not tremble with fear nor retort to the elemental, but rather stood still, his eyes small red glares beneath his full black helm. The purple cloak the warrior wore betrayed him with slight movement but the elemental did not mind. It made him curious, yet intrigued. So much potential. If only every warrior who gave praise to the God of Murder was so devout. Snapped come his contemplations, immediately he remembered that the warrior was still here. "Zantiath." What brings you to my room. Nodding to allow him to speak the warrior blurted out everything at once. "We're outnumbered! The heretics gather together by the gates of the Church of Celestia en masse and are beating back the warriors sent. I was sent to report to you, and ask you what to do." Simmer nodded and slowly got to his "feet". Walking out of the room without hesitation, Zantiath followed the elemental as he went to gather backup. Stopping by Vassago's and Haurelroot's rooms, he gave a quick knock and continued onward, knowing they would await him at the square. Entering the Dark Cathedral, he found Pftriscimius reading from a scroll. "Wizard, we have need of you. Your brothers are outnumbered at the gates of Celestia." The wizard's eyes darted from his scroll for a moment, a sarcastic sneer coming to his lips. "And pigs fly." Simmer growled. "This is serious Pftriscimius, it seems they have aid from the Dragon's Hoard, and some other of the clans scattered across the realms." Looking to Zantiath, he nodded and the young warrior spoke again. "Simmer speaks the truth, I saw it with my own two eyes! It seems the Tyrrans and Mystrans have also gated in to the Church of Celestia and the Dragon's Hoard as well! Against any two of them i'm sure we would have been able to handle the simple task, but their are now three churches and a powerful merchant band arrayed against us." Pftriscimius lowered his scroll and studied the young man's face for long seconds. "He speaks only the truth. Let me get my wands and scrolls, I will be ready within half a movement of the sun." Thus said, the group gathered at the Market Square of Westbridge and readied their weapons. Vassago and Pftrisicmius uttered arcane syllables and disappeared in a a cloud of purple smoke, opening a temporary gate for each of the warriors to step into. Haurelroot yawned and entered his gate lazily, while Simmer and Zantiath slid through steathily as was their typical entrance. Appearing before the entrance the two mercenaries of varying age and skill disappeared into the surroundings, scouting for hints and clues to where their kin may be lurking. Finding Jackal and Levistus, along with a small number of the remaining soldiers, they met back at the gate point. Vassago appeared suddenly, as it his wont to do, and smiled an evil leering grin. "The fools, Halo sleeps in their resting pool as if nothing goes on around him, while Zanis and the rest of them huddle behind the death traps and pin guards. There will be nothing protecting the priest from our onslaught." Haurelroot spun suddenly, sniffing the air and slammed his large nodachi down upon an innocent bush. Cleaving it in two, two dark forms jumped to the side, barely seen and barely noticable. All of Strife's champions knew them instantly thou, both from the champions knew them instantly thou, both from the customary garb of a Shadow Thief that they both wore, and from the weapons they clutched. The only question was why were they here. Pftriscimius readied his hands and let them dance into a beautiful weave, shimmering gold light forming between them. Nodding, The rest of the warriors surrounded the two and sneered. "You'd better have a good reason for being here, or your going to die right here." Jackal spat as he spoke. He was always ready to see the thieves die. Whysk brushed off his black tunic and removed his cowl, nodding to Vrulle to sheath his swords. "We're here to kill Celestians, just like you." Jackal gave a questioning look to Simmer, and Simmer shrugged. "Come along then. If you betray us, they will have to dig your burnt ashes and equipment out of my personal chest if they want anything to bury." Vrulle grinned and shrugged, slightly uneasy in this large group of Cyricists. He had faced worse odds. The group made it's way upon the gates that had been recently reinforced with a large group of Celestian guards. As the company approached they yelled for them to stay their ground and drop their weapons. Not even bothering to respond the group of the realms finest slammed into the guards, sounds of cutting swords biting through pure steel armor causing shrieks of pain to pierce the afternoon sky. Jackal and Haurelroot at the forefront with Whysk didn't even bother to parry the feeble responses, their swords cleaving soldiers often in two, the weapons slamming into the marble floor and cutting gashes into the virgin earth. Like a disease, they tore the guards and ground, the walls and gates to splinters. Blood flowed like springwater across the consecrated ground and caused the souls of those goodly heros that had been laid to rest beneath the church to cry out in unheard suffering. Making their way through the gates and scouring the halls, dispatching other pairs of guards, they found the place immaculately empty. Vassago and Pftriscimius, invisible as always, floating like ghosts through every crevice and crack, and past magical sentries and wards, finding both the pool and the hiding place of the remainder of the good forces. As they walked towards the healing pool, A darting figure made it's way with incredible stealth to the gates. No doubt it was a scout going for reinforcements. Vrulle and Zantiath were upon her long before she was aware, and as one their swords flashed into their hands as easy as if it were but a shrug, and tore great gashes into her back. Wendy screamed and stumbled towards the gates still, summoning a large cave bear to block the pursuing force. Meteors the size of barrels rained upon the bear, and in but the blink of an eye it was dead. Haurelroot and Whysk, large as oxen quickly stepped in her way, a heavy mailed fist punching her in the face stopped her in her tracks. Between the group of them, she was quick torn to shreds before anyone could notice, bits of her flesh were quickly eaten by the vermin that seemed to follow the Cyricists wherever they went. Continuing onward they approached the healing chambers, and there, all alone, sat the priest Halo. In a moment no more it was over, steel plated fingers sought vulnerable eyes and swords slit into his throat from both the left and right. A muted gurgle echoed through the now silent chamber, and the sound of his head could be heard, bubbling unused air as it floated on top of the sacred waters. Quickly snatching it up, as they had with Wendy's entrails, the wizards transferred them back to the keep for preserving, and for further enchantments that would form them into voodoo dolls. For the remainder of the time that the occupying force was within the church, no living creature dared stir or move, for the force made it's mark upon the walls and  marble, pissing and doing many other things that would desecrate the otherwise beautiful chambers. Defecating on the statue of Celestia, beating Cheiron nearly to death, the group was very pleased as they left for home. A pleasant day of work. All Hail the Lord of Three Crowns. The Prince of Lies The Lord of Murder Cyric.