Old Character Description - Astafas Lochness
In the shadows, watching every suttle move made, lurks Astafas Lochness of Torregiano. He is tall with a very broad figure. He looks very strong as if he can carry the realm of Waterdeep on his shoulders. Long dark robes cover his massive body. A gust of wind blows his robes to the side reveiling that he has his strong hands tight around his weapons. The weapons he has wielded are stained with the blood of his foes. He moves away from the shadows, grasping his weapons even tighter. In one swift move, Astafas circles the room and appears in the middle of the room, blood dripping from his weapons. One by one lifeless bodies fall to the ground from the shadows. Astafas grins and states,"Long Live TriPower and begone Vector scum!"
Current Character Description - Alsin Fairfax
An entity of darkness stands there. He is no figmentation of the imagination, and close examination denotes it is a silhouette of a male figure contrieved mainly of muscle with few physical flaws. His build is that of a titan; lean yet muscular with his clothing tight fitting and adorning his body and figure. His height though, implies he is something else. His eyes glisten in a dull grey color with pupils that are purple and black swirled. The majority of his facial features appear goblin-like: a downward pointed nose, small eyes, and a narrow visage. On the contrary, he stands straight and tall, his ears pointed and elven-like, his skin color ebony with a hue of blue, and lastly he has a well groomed fu-manchu that falls about 6 inches below his chin. There is also a sheet flowing from his head that is either his jet black hair or a hood of black satin. Another look might reveal more, but the entity is gone. Perhaps it was imaginary, or perhaps it was just the shadow of some tortured soul.
Current Character Description - Relic Revenu
Pale fully-red eyes contrast spectacularly this Drow's dark ebony skin. Both of these hues darker and more washed-out than the average Dark Elf, quietly giving away a measure of the great amount of time his lifespan has encompassed. Neatly situated above his left eye, in an ink darker even than his skin, though almost faded beyond visibility, are three evenly spaced horizontal bars no more than a half-centimeter in width and twice that in length for the bottom most, somewhat smaller above that as they slightly taper upward. These markings join no others on his face, the rest marred only slightly by lines etched as a testament again to countless years of wear. His deep maroon lips remain permanently in a slight frown, though are otherwise neutral to the words that lay beneath them.
Framing his features, his ears stand prominently not betraying his ancient Elven roots. Though pointed as are most Elves', his left ear is absent the very tip. Defiant to the fact, however, this ear is heavily decorated with dozens of small golden loops, lining every available offering of flesh. Opposite this ear entirely, is home to but one adornment. His right ear bears a single teardrop shaped stud of a light cyan color pierced into his tragus. Between his ears his scalp has been shaved clean, free of all traces of the traditionally white Dark Elven hair. At his back are two scabbards, crossed though narrowly so; the hilts of the swords they contain resting only slightly behind and to the side of each ear, set this way for ease as they are drawn. The worn leather scabbards themselves, having a slight curve in them on the way to their silver-capped base, are adorned simply with the decorations that only battle could offer. The swords inside are rather long, causing the scabbards' bowed midsection to cross each other in the middle before extending back to their respective sides stopping slightly more than two feet from the ground.
On the Drow's feet two rugged black stained leather boots are worn, small iron studs decorating the heels and the toes. Tucked into their brim are, matching in color, a pair of roughly patched, baggy, leather breeches fastened with a thick, brown leather belt about his waist. The belt's buckle is crafted in the shape of a miniature masquerade mask. All along the length, have a dozen small holes been carved through, half on each side of the buckle. Small holsters, each with the protruding hilt of a dagger, have been secured to every opening, save one on the far right where a generously weighted coin purse has a strapping of its own. The Elf's right arm rests gently against this purse as if subconsciously guarding it. This arm and the respective hand are bare, though a long, wispy scar travels from the tip of his elbow in a spiral around the whole length of his arm making a sharp descent at the inside of his wrist down to his palm, where it ends in a crude tattoo of a snake's head filling a large portion of his palm, its red tongue snaking down the entirety of his middle finger. His left hand bears but a single ring on the appropriate finger.
Above his bicep on the same arm a piece of fabric has been tied in a knot, its color blackened due to dirt and grime from having never been removed. His torso is bare of clothing though bears several remnants of olden battle wounds, numerous scars of varying shapes and sizes. These scars are partially concealed by the two straps running across his chest, securing the scabbards and their cargo to his back. Fashioned similarly to his belt, are another dozen daggers fastened to these straps. They are slightly longer than the other in length, but are otherwise indifferent for all visual purposes. Around the Drow's neck is a single platinum chain, bearing a small stiletto as a pendant, resting between his collar bones; a trinket that is as simplistic as the rest of the man and everything he wears. Simple, yet it bears truths that a simple look cannot discern, but can be discovered somewhere in the depths of untold memories locked well behind the gaze of those red eyes.
Framing his features, his ears stand prominently not betraying his ancient Elven roots. Though pointed as are most Elves', his left ear is absent the very tip. Defiant to the fact, however, this ear is heavily decorated with dozens of small golden loops, lining every available offering of flesh. Opposite this ear entirely, is home to but one adornment. His right ear bears a single teardrop shaped stud of a light cyan color pierced into his tragus. Between his ears his scalp has been shaved clean, free of all traces of the traditionally white Dark Elven hair. At his back are two scabbards, crossed though narrowly so; the hilts of the swords they contain resting only slightly behind and to the side of each ear, set this way for ease as they are drawn. The worn leather scabbards themselves, having a slight curve in them on the way to their silver-capped base, are adorned simply with the decorations that only battle could offer. The swords inside are rather long, causing the scabbards' bowed midsection to cross each other in the middle before extending back to their respective sides stopping slightly more than two feet from the ground.
On the Drow's feet two rugged black stained leather boots are worn, small iron studs decorating the heels and the toes. Tucked into their brim are, matching in color, a pair of roughly patched, baggy, leather breeches fastened with a thick, brown leather belt about his waist. The belt's buckle is crafted in the shape of a miniature masquerade mask. All along the length, have a dozen small holes been carved through, half on each side of the buckle. Small holsters, each with the protruding hilt of a dagger, have been secured to every opening, save one on the far right where a generously weighted coin purse has a strapping of its own. The Elf's right arm rests gently against this purse as if subconsciously guarding it. This arm and the respective hand are bare, though a long, wispy scar travels from the tip of his elbow in a spiral around the whole length of his arm making a sharp descent at the inside of his wrist down to his palm, where it ends in a crude tattoo of a snake's head filling a large portion of his palm, its red tongue snaking down the entirety of his middle finger. His left hand bears but a single ring on the appropriate finger.
Above his bicep on the same arm a piece of fabric has been tied in a knot, its color blackened due to dirt and grime from having never been removed. His torso is bare of clothing though bears several remnants of olden battle wounds, numerous scars of varying shapes and sizes. These scars are partially concealed by the two straps running across his chest, securing the scabbards and their cargo to his back. Fashioned similarly to his belt, are another dozen daggers fastened to these straps. They are slightly longer than the other in length, but are otherwise indifferent for all visual purposes. Around the Drow's neck is a single platinum chain, bearing a small stiletto as a pendant, resting between his collar bones; a trinket that is as simplistic as the rest of the man and everything he wears. Simple, yet it bears truths that a simple look cannot discern, but can be discovered somewhere in the depths of untold memories locked well behind the gaze of those red eyes.
Verdict
"Velentham Arenfeld," said a deep baritone voice. Velentham looked down at himself. He was once more drapped in the trappings of his world - healthy skin glowing golden, long wings flowing down his back, a simple white robe belted and draped from his tall, slender frame. He looked up to see a long desk high above him at which was seated thirteen Celestials. Velentham knelt in a deep bow. The calm that radiated from being home was already beginning to soothe him. "You have arrived here after a death. You have been charged with three counts of mortal murder, coercion, kidnapping, and brutality."
"No..." Velentham said, standing up in a bit of a panic. "I had a mortal woman I wished to bring before you, to have her petition, she was to bear my child, we were all to be Celestial."
"Velentham Arenfeld," spoke a lilting female voice. "You used your powers to push this woman. To pry her from her family, to slay her unborn infant to replace it with your own."
"No, I didn't... that's now how I intended..."
"Velentham Arenfeld," spoke a high-pitched male voice. "You have been a bane to our race. We were forced to endure questioning at the hands of the Rilmani. We suffered to send one of our own to watch over you and his findings were more devious and diabolical than we could ever have imagined."
"I... it wasn't meant to be, she was supposed to be with me. She loved me!"
"Velentham Arenfeld," came a drawn female's voice. "Rather than upholding the principles of the Celestial people, keeping your ire for those of evil, you willingly spread them to an exile and the mortals around him."
"My cousin isn't worth our thought!" Velentham spat, his anger rising.
"Velentham Arenfeld," came a soothing tenor. "You were a burden before ever you caused the death of your father-"
"I didn't kill him!" Velentham snarled. "Gilean did! Eosos!"
"-and we allowed him to protect you in the pocket of planar energies he constructed to keep your rage contained. However, by your actions-"
"I did nothing! This is Eosos' fault! He took what was rightfully mine!"
"-you have proven yourself to be one of the lowest Celestials, unfit to remain in Elysium."
"No!! You can't do this to me!!"
"Velentham Arenfeld," spoke the baritone once more. "Your sentence has been agreed upon, and you are to be delivered to the realm of Gehenna from this time until time indefinite for your crimes against the Celestial race, against the will of the tribunal, and against the lesser souls of the material plane."
"No..." Velentham whispered, his face horrified.
"This sentence is to begin immediately. Your time with the shimmering souls of Elysium is at a close. Berentas, escort Arenfeld to his new home."
Velentham felt the thick hands grip his arm and his knees gave way. He stared up at the tribunal, open mouthed. "No... you can't do this... I am Velentham Arenfeld, I cannot be placed in the midst of demons... I am a Celestial!"
"A fact," came the tenor, "that brings shame upon the very name."
In a flash of light, Velentham was whisked to the edge of Gehenna. His escort, Berentas, looked him over with the eyes of a garbage man finally delivering his payload to the dump. In another flash, Berentas was gone, and Velentham stared out into the boiling landscape of the lesser hell. It would be his view for eternity.
"No..." Velentham said, standing up in a bit of a panic. "I had a mortal woman I wished to bring before you, to have her petition, she was to bear my child, we were all to be Celestial."
"Velentham Arenfeld," spoke a lilting female voice. "You used your powers to push this woman. To pry her from her family, to slay her unborn infant to replace it with your own."
"No, I didn't... that's now how I intended..."
"Velentham Arenfeld," spoke a high-pitched male voice. "You have been a bane to our race. We were forced to endure questioning at the hands of the Rilmani. We suffered to send one of our own to watch over you and his findings were more devious and diabolical than we could ever have imagined."
"I... it wasn't meant to be, she was supposed to be with me. She loved me!"
"Velentham Arenfeld," came a drawn female's voice. "Rather than upholding the principles of the Celestial people, keeping your ire for those of evil, you willingly spread them to an exile and the mortals around him."
"My cousin isn't worth our thought!" Velentham spat, his anger rising.
"Velentham Arenfeld," came a soothing tenor. "You were a burden before ever you caused the death of your father-"
"I didn't kill him!" Velentham snarled. "Gilean did! Eosos!"
"-and we allowed him to protect you in the pocket of planar energies he constructed to keep your rage contained. However, by your actions-"
"I did nothing! This is Eosos' fault! He took what was rightfully mine!"
"-you have proven yourself to be one of the lowest Celestials, unfit to remain in Elysium."
"No!! You can't do this to me!!"
"Velentham Arenfeld," spoke the baritone once more. "Your sentence has been agreed upon, and you are to be delivered to the realm of Gehenna from this time until time indefinite for your crimes against the Celestial race, against the will of the tribunal, and against the lesser souls of the material plane."
"No..." Velentham whispered, his face horrified.
"This sentence is to begin immediately. Your time with the shimmering souls of Elysium is at a close. Berentas, escort Arenfeld to his new home."
Velentham felt the thick hands grip his arm and his knees gave way. He stared up at the tribunal, open mouthed. "No... you can't do this... I am Velentham Arenfeld, I cannot be placed in the midst of demons... I am a Celestial!"
"A fact," came the tenor, "that brings shame upon the very name."
In a flash of light, Velentham was whisked to the edge of Gehenna. His escort, Berentas, looked him over with the eyes of a garbage man finally delivering his payload to the dump. In another flash, Berentas was gone, and Velentham stared out into the boiling landscape of the lesser hell. It would be his view for eternity.
Burning the Throttle
The idea struck Velentham as he watched Sanria sleep under his spell. It was a simple ploy to get his cousin to leave the cottage and the safety of the ward, to get to Gilean and pry open his mind. He would be able to locate the necklace. He'd show up with Sanria. He'd have the bait so close to Gilean, he'd taunt him with the news that Sanria was now pregnant with *his* child.
There was no waiting. Velentham uttered a spell and both he and Sanria appeared at the edge of the forest by the cottage. He kept her sleeping, wrapped in a bubble of energy to protect her from anything Gilean would try to do. "GILEAN! COME OUT HERE! I HAVE SOMEONE YOU SHOULD SEE!"
Velentham grinned as Gilean came to the door, gloated over the prize he held in the bubble, and taunted with everything he could imagine. Still, his idiot cousin wouldn't leave the ward. Velentham removed the bubble and forced Sanria to remain where she was. Then, his cousin started running his mouth. "You don't remember a lot of things, do you Sanria?"
"She remembers enough," Velentham said, turning Sanria's face to his. "He's making you forget. It's him Sanria. He is the reason you can't remember. That's why he's keeping you confined too. It's not others he's trying to protect you from, he doesn't want you to be free."
"That's enough, Gilean," Velentham warned, his arm around Sanria.
"Remember Sanria. Remember what he's done. He's killed your baby. He's tried to ruin your life."
"Killed..." Sanria said, and Velentham could feel the memory forcing itself to the surface.
"He's keeping you a prisoner. Yes. You had a baby inside you. Not his. He killed it."
"Enough, do you hear me?" Velentham growled, walking toward Gilean. Then all hell broke loose.
Velentham saw the shimmer that enclosed him and fired off a ray of energy meant to fry his cousin. The energy flew around him, encased in a field of antimagic. Unbelieveable. How his cousin had managed it, Velentham did not know, but as soon as he absorbed the magic, the bubble tightened, and he knew the next result.
Velentham turned quickly to see Orn and the Beast, Colin, rushing him. He grabbed Sanria, breathing quickly. His sword... he couldn't even conjure it. He was bested. "STAY BACK OR I'LL SNAP HER NECK!"
"You wouldn't," Gilean said.
"I won't let you have her, cousin. I'd rather her die than be with you."
"If she dies, you die. There is no way you're getting out of this."
"Then I'll go home and you'll be left with no one. Sounds fair enough to me."
With that, his insanity at full tilt, Velentham did to his woman and his unborn child exactly what he said. He heard the muted snap of Sanria's neck and as she fell to the ground, he felt part of his heart wither with her. There was nothing left but to be sent back to Elysium. He taunted the animal until Colin was upon him. He lay on the ground, begging to be returned to his homeland until the swords were thrust through him.
Velentham reached up to touch the blades that protruded from his chest. He laughed pitifully as the life left his body. Then his soul grouped itself into an orb. In a flash, the Celestial's soul crossed every boundary that Velentham could not physically cross, to find itself standing before the Tribunal on Elysium.
There was no waiting. Velentham uttered a spell and both he and Sanria appeared at the edge of the forest by the cottage. He kept her sleeping, wrapped in a bubble of energy to protect her from anything Gilean would try to do. "GILEAN! COME OUT HERE! I HAVE SOMEONE YOU SHOULD SEE!"
Velentham grinned as Gilean came to the door, gloated over the prize he held in the bubble, and taunted with everything he could imagine. Still, his idiot cousin wouldn't leave the ward. Velentham removed the bubble and forced Sanria to remain where she was. Then, his cousin started running his mouth. "You don't remember a lot of things, do you Sanria?"
"She remembers enough," Velentham said, turning Sanria's face to his. "He's making you forget. It's him Sanria. He is the reason you can't remember. That's why he's keeping you confined too. It's not others he's trying to protect you from, he doesn't want you to be free."
"That's enough, Gilean," Velentham warned, his arm around Sanria.
"Remember Sanria. Remember what he's done. He's killed your baby. He's tried to ruin your life."
"Killed..." Sanria said, and Velentham could feel the memory forcing itself to the surface.
"He's keeping you a prisoner. Yes. You had a baby inside you. Not his. He killed it."
"Enough, do you hear me?" Velentham growled, walking toward Gilean. Then all hell broke loose.
Velentham saw the shimmer that enclosed him and fired off a ray of energy meant to fry his cousin. The energy flew around him, encased in a field of antimagic. Unbelieveable. How his cousin had managed it, Velentham did not know, but as soon as he absorbed the magic, the bubble tightened, and he knew the next result.
Velentham turned quickly to see Orn and the Beast, Colin, rushing him. He grabbed Sanria, breathing quickly. His sword... he couldn't even conjure it. He was bested. "STAY BACK OR I'LL SNAP HER NECK!"
"You wouldn't," Gilean said.
"I won't let you have her, cousin. I'd rather her die than be with you."
"If she dies, you die. There is no way you're getting out of this."
"Then I'll go home and you'll be left with no one. Sounds fair enough to me."
With that, his insanity at full tilt, Velentham did to his woman and his unborn child exactly what he said. He heard the muted snap of Sanria's neck and as she fell to the ground, he felt part of his heart wither with her. There was nothing left but to be sent back to Elysium. He taunted the animal until Colin was upon him. He lay on the ground, begging to be returned to his homeland until the swords were thrust through him.
Velentham reached up to touch the blades that protruded from his chest. He laughed pitifully as the life left his body. Then his soul grouped itself into an orb. In a flash, the Celestial's soul crossed every boundary that Velentham could not physically cross, to find itself standing before the Tribunal on Elysium.
Strange Encounter
Aneh sat along the top of the bench, watching the foot traffic as it passed by. A slight frown settled across her face as her eyes stared blankly in one direction. Something wasn't right in the world. She didn't like it. But what was there to do about it? She had no proof anything was going on, really... A chill ran up her spine as she remembered the feeling of being watched the other day at the bakery.
Aneh focused on a small child that had been staring at her, shaking off her problems for the moment. The wide eyed child seemed rooted in place and Aneh felt a tug from somewhere deep inside of her. Something about the child was special but she couldn't quite place what. The child felt familiar, but Aneh knew she had never met the girl before. Aneh rose from the bench and approached the child who stared openly.
"What's your name child," Aneh asked softly, kneeling a foot away from the child. The child swallowed hard and reached a hand out, running her fingers over the odd studs that framed Aneh's features. Aneh closed her eyes at the touch, her world inwardly rocked with feelings innocently transfered from the child to her. She missed the child's name in the mass confusion inside her mind, and barely noticed as a worried parent came to take the hand of the child. "What do you think you are doing??" Aneh heard from the angry parent, as if she was under water. She shook her head to clear it, unable to fully regain her own senses. She sat back on the road, unable to move for a moment as the child was hauled away by the worried mother.
Aneh slowly stood after a few moments, her mind and vision finally clearing. The mother and child were gone, and Aneh was left alone in the dusty roadway, thoroughly confused about the encounter.
Aneh focused on a small child that had been staring at her, shaking off her problems for the moment. The wide eyed child seemed rooted in place and Aneh felt a tug from somewhere deep inside of her. Something about the child was special but she couldn't quite place what. The child felt familiar, but Aneh knew she had never met the girl before. Aneh rose from the bench and approached the child who stared openly.
"What's your name child," Aneh asked softly, kneeling a foot away from the child. The child swallowed hard and reached a hand out, running her fingers over the odd studs that framed Aneh's features. Aneh closed her eyes at the touch, her world inwardly rocked with feelings innocently transfered from the child to her. She missed the child's name in the mass confusion inside her mind, and barely noticed as a worried parent came to take the hand of the child. "What do you think you are doing??" Aneh heard from the angry parent, as if she was under water. She shook her head to clear it, unable to fully regain her own senses. She sat back on the road, unable to move for a moment as the child was hauled away by the worried mother.
Aneh slowly stood after a few moments, her mind and vision finally clearing. The mother and child were gone, and Aneh was left alone in the dusty roadway, thoroughly confused about the encounter.
Swelling... the Members...
"No, no. Of course you're not being held to anything right now. We just want you to keep it in mind, that's all."
"I still don't see why you're coming to me with this... " "I've never been interested in half the things you and yours deal in. It's not really my thing."
"It's the half you are interested in that we care about. Like I said, don't make a decision right now, think on it."
He nodded at the dark-skinned elf, who looked more a warrior than a merchant; his half naked body riddled scars, and the rest looking as if he were ready to go to war, outfitted with some basic lightweight armor and more different types of weapons than he cared to count. "Will that be all then?"
"Yes, yes of course. I apologize for the inconvenience." The Drow nodded at a large cloaked man who had been standing uncomfortably close to him for the duration of their conversation. Obeying the nod, the man moved forward and, with a knife, severed the ropes binding him to his chair: the decidedly more uncomfortable part about his situation.
Rubbing his wrists where the tight ropes had chaffed his skin, he made a slight bow to the Elf who was still seated in his own wooden chair and skirted around the man towards the door. As he put his had on the knob however the Drow spoke up behind him. "Oh. By the way... Don't tell your friends."
Not a problem, he thought as he turned the knob and left the room behind
***
Relic stood, arms crossed, in a long hallway in the Keep with one of his brothers, a man he had known for generations; a human, several inches taller than Relic, though a bit more wiry. Although he was a fierce strider, by trade, he was the longest standing Vox of the Hoard, and though once a pupil of Relic's, they now sought council with each other.
"And what did he say?" the tall Human asked of Relic, speaking of one of his recent meetings with what they called "The Potential".
"Before or after he shit himself?", Relic replied with a grin.
The strider before him sighed. "Are you ever serious?"
Still grinning Relic said, "He said the same as all the rest, brother: that he would consider it. Which is all we ask in the first place." His grin fading he added, "Besides, we cannot expect to find true brothers by looking... you know this is how it's always been, they must come to us."
"Yes, I know, I know... but we still must get the word out. What about those closest to us? Have they said much?"
"No, they cannot, and will not, betray theirs until it is safe to do so, we can't expect more than that. The whisper, however, has been placed in their ears. All we can do is be patient."
"I hope patience will put coin in our pockets..."
"Stand on the right corner with enough patience and it will." Relic cackled at his own wit.
Rolling his eyes the taller man said, "We've got a lot of work to do, best that we get to it."
"I still don't see why you're coming to me with this... " "I've never been interested in half the things you and yours deal in. It's not really my thing."
"It's the half you are interested in that we care about. Like I said, don't make a decision right now, think on it."
He nodded at the dark-skinned elf, who looked more a warrior than a merchant; his half naked body riddled scars, and the rest looking as if he were ready to go to war, outfitted with some basic lightweight armor and more different types of weapons than he cared to count. "Will that be all then?"
"Yes, yes of course. I apologize for the inconvenience." The Drow nodded at a large cloaked man who had been standing uncomfortably close to him for the duration of their conversation. Obeying the nod, the man moved forward and, with a knife, severed the ropes binding him to his chair: the decidedly more uncomfortable part about his situation.
Rubbing his wrists where the tight ropes had chaffed his skin, he made a slight bow to the Elf who was still seated in his own wooden chair and skirted around the man towards the door. As he put his had on the knob however the Drow spoke up behind him. "Oh. By the way... Don't tell your friends."
Not a problem, he thought as he turned the knob and left the room behind
***
Relic stood, arms crossed, in a long hallway in the Keep with one of his brothers, a man he had known for generations; a human, several inches taller than Relic, though a bit more wiry. Although he was a fierce strider, by trade, he was the longest standing Vox of the Hoard, and though once a pupil of Relic's, they now sought council with each other.
"And what did he say?" the tall Human asked of Relic, speaking of one of his recent meetings with what they called "The Potential".
"Before or after he shit himself?", Relic replied with a grin.
The strider before him sighed. "Are you ever serious?"
Still grinning Relic said, "He said the same as all the rest, brother: that he would consider it. Which is all we ask in the first place." His grin fading he added, "Besides, we cannot expect to find true brothers by looking... you know this is how it's always been, they must come to us."
"Yes, I know, I know... but we still must get the word out. What about those closest to us? Have they said much?"
"No, they cannot, and will not, betray theirs until it is safe to do so, we can't expect more than that. The whisper, however, has been placed in their ears. All we can do is be patient."
"I hope patience will put coin in our pockets..."
"Stand on the right corner with enough patience and it will." Relic cackled at his own wit.
Rolling his eyes the taller man said, "We've got a lot of work to do, best that we get to it."
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