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Tyrant King

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  1. The exchange of words between the other half-blooded Elf, and the Rukhai hadn't meant anything to Faust. The exiled prince targeted the female Elf with a focused stare - the man's eyes were heated with a fury that very much befitted his demon lineage. "All I care about is the money owed to me - the bastard mayor's going to pay for all of my dead soldiers." A scowl was deeply etched on the face of the mercenary commander; the tattoos ink on his visage illuminated with the dark power that coursed through him. "Or I'll..." He'd stopped himself short on the threat that'd almost been spoken - his enraged state might've stirred suspicion and distrust in the Wood Elf and Rukhai. Faust had rolled his head from one shoulder in a semi-circular pattern to the other should, and popped the bones in his neck multiple times. He expelled a groan of relief, and seemed to stand with a more relaxed posture despite the aggression that flowed through his being. "There's nothing to tell you," he said to the Rukhai who'd arrived to the murder party quite late, and yet expected an explanation of the events that transpired. "Berserk goblins, mysterious black goo, dead mercenaries -" Faust's sentence ended abruptly as a thought that infuriated him further came to mind. His attention remained on the Wood Elf as he verbally probed, "Your people were approached to do the job. Sure, you're all about the forest.... but did you really not know about this? Isn't this shit some type of violation of mother nature?" Suspicion was aroused in Faust. "Give what we've seen here today - I refuse to believe nobody knew anything about what my men walked into. The mayor!?" The mercenary's swords had been stowed, and it was probably for the best given how he trembled with renewed anger, and his palms itched in a way that could only be calmed by the feel of his weapons. Even though Faust knew nothing of the ranger woman or her feline friend, he wanted to believe they were trustworthy. No matter the origins of the Elven - highborn or otherwise - they all valued the sanctity of their homes. They all possessed a strong bond with nature, and prided themselves on being the children of the Gods. "...maybe not you," he conceded the brief flurry of anger aimed at the Wood Elf. "...I'll get my answers; you get yours." Faust then turned away from the woman, walked past the large wolf and Ruhkhai, and toward the town in the not too far distance.
  2. The murderous screech of the goblin brood mother rang far and wide; it was heard before she was seen but when the creature sprang upward from the pile of bodies, Faust had snapped his head in her direction with widened eyes that flashed a crimson hue once again. The warrior knelt upon a knee had urged his body into action; the leg firmly planted into the terrain wasn't able to support his weight, and the moment he'd risen from that one knee, he wobbled uneasily. The swords he'd gripped with what remained of his strength hadn't even been lifted from the ground. The half breed's face twisted scowl and he glared at the thoughtless, blood-lusting creature. 'Is this the end of me?' The mercenary dared to wonder in the deepest recesses of his mind. He lacked the ability to do anything other than serve as a stationary target. 'The Other will emerge, and I'll cease to be.' It was death that the swordsman feared; it was being consumed by the demon within. If anything... dying would've been a merciful end compared the alternative. Faust Reinhart's life had hung in peril for half a crucial second, and where he'd prepared for oblivion... The Elven ranger had let loosed an arrow with purpose, and the pointed tip drilled into the cranium of the female goblin! The creature's forward momentum was completely overpowered, and she was flung backwards until a bloated corpse impacted the terrain. It squelched, twitched a few times, and then finally ceased to be a living life form as that odd, black substance leaked from its most critical wound. 'Not yet, huh?' The dark-haired, pointy-eared male had expelled a sigh of relief, tilted his head to the left and eyed the ranger from the corner of his peripheral. "Thank you," he said. The words were weighted; he hadn't expected to every say such a thing to another elf that had seen his face. It caused him to narrow his eyes whilst brows furrowed due to a sparked suspicion. "Or should I not be so quick to speak?" He considered the possibility that perhaps she'd spared him from a death at the hands of a goblin so that she could see him turned other influential figures within elf society that called for his head. As she'd seemingly chastised him for the goblin brood mother not being dead, he'd dropped his head in annoyance and sighed once more, a bit louder now. "Forget? No. I needed to catch my breath..." He looked long and hard into the eyes of the bow-wielding female elf, and hadn't seen any hostility aimed at him, so he released his swords. And relieved of the weight of those deadly blades, he'd manage to stand upright, though he struggled on weary legs. The Commander of Hell Fighter Company then offered a partial bow to the ranger; a show of gratitude and respect. "Magic?" He scoffed when she'd suggested that the powerful apparition that had erupted from his form had been a product of magic. Once more, his eyes narrowed as he searched her demeanor, and more importantly, her eyes again. "There is a demon inside of me," he explained, a bit surprised she hadn't read the elf branded tattoo on his forehead. "I am a 'Cursed One' by judgement of High Elf society, which I was born to. It is a taboo to acknowledgement my existence for any other purpose than to shame and admonish me," Faust stated, and as usual, a deep, angered frown had set in on his cut and scratched face. There was a blur of motion, the sound of heavy footfall, and then a low, rumbled growl - Faust eased backwards a couple of steps when a wolf of intimidating size had taken to the ranger's side. He looked into the predatory eyes of the large animal; saw and sensed its protective instinct, and knew it'd kill him if he threatened the woman. So he'd taken the cue, and further backed away. A couple of steps farther away from the ranger and another woman had emerged from beyond trees and brush; a red-haired, blue-eyed humanoid with noticeable feline features. "Hm?" He curiously tilted his head when she quipped toward the elf ranger. "A Rukhai," Reinhart murmured. "Don't see too many of those." His eyes shifted between the ranger, the wolf and the Rukhai. And yet that wasn't all. The scent of death and decay lingered in the air, he'd sniffed a whiff of something else -- pleasant! It called back to something, somewhere. A place he couldn't remember, but felt a strong attachment to. The scent filled his lungs, coursed through his body, and had stirred an urge inside of him to seek out a mystery. It'd taken a minute, but when Faust became aware of how his thoughts wandered far from the here and now, he'd shaken his head and dispelled the idea temporarily. "The goblins..." He broken the statement after just two words, and looked about at the gruesomely murdered mercenaries of Hell Fighter Company. The slight hint of sadness touched his face as his eyes had briefly closed, and beneath his breath he'd spoken an prayer of parting in the elf tongue. A very short passage that expressed one's gratitude for the time spent with others during their time together in the living world. "They weren't normal goblins. My men were the fucking best... - my worst fighter wouldn't have fallen to bottom feeding scum like goblins." And then in place of sadness, there came fury, which laced his voice. "The black substance - they wouldn't die until all of it had drained from them. It's not blood though, something else. They were all berserk; didn't respond to pain, or being maimed - I cut the head off of one and it wandered aimlessly until the black stuff spilled out. There weren't any words exchanged, no demands to cease hostility, just ceaseless fighting and crazed noises."
  3. The forest had ceased to be a battlefield when the clash of swords, clattering of metal, breaking of bones, cleaving of flesh and screams of agony subsided, and was replaced by a deathly silence. It was now a mass grave; littered with many corpses there were still warm. The scent of blood in the air was so strong, the natural aroma of pine and leaf was lost to the reek. The sole survivor of the two-sided massacre, Faust Reinhart, had dropped onto his knees, at a loss of strength and quite possibly sanity too. His was a face seized with a look of agony; eyes were wide and glazed over; brimmed a crimson that drowned the emerald hue of his irises. There were two tattoos on his face: one was an elf tribal marking that framed the outside of his right eye and temple, it identified him as High Elf of nobility. The son of a High Elf Priestess; therefore a prince. The other was on his forehead centered between his eyes and just above his nose; it's design was that of an oddly shaped cranium with two elongated, curved horns. It was a marking of the banished and damned; to bear it was to be cursed. Faust was one who possessed mixed features; there were the thin, long, pointed ears of an elf with the soft, yet sharp facial features, but mustache and neatly trimmed beard that pointed downward from his chin betrayed any possibility of him being a pure blood. Then, there was his physique - where most of the Elf were tall and lithe, he had the height coupled with the thicker, more sturdy frame of a human. The form of the toppled hybrid had been engulfed by a ruby hued aura of power; it sizzled as the visible bits of skin that weren't covered in blood glistened with sweat. In that state there was a wickedness to him - an endless hunger and bottomless power. The precious silence and solitude was shattered by a voice from behind; it was soft with femininity and yet held a tone of authority. One thing was commanded, and then another demanded. Faust hadn't lifted from his knees, but straightened his back and turned his head, and glared at the woman from over his left shoulder. The first thing he'd taken notice of were the ears - long, thin and pointed they were like all elf folk. The world as he'd seen it suddenly turned grey, and it wasn't just the woman there in his presence, but a dozen others. There were no features to their faces, they all were blacked out, but their voices expressed plenty. They all talked down to him, shunned him, looked down on him from on high. All of them... elf, like him. Now trapped inside of himself Faust was hammered by verbal abuse from those he'd once been destined to rule by birthright. The great warrior of notoriety who led Hell Fighter Company had shrank into a small child that cried and cowered until had howling redness had swept over him. The aura that encompassed Faust flared with a boom of thunder that was followed by a mighty roar as if a monster had erupted from within the docile man. It generated fierce winds that kick up a storm of dust and forest debris. The aura had a very different, and very powerful presence from Faust. It became a blaze with slits for eyes and mouth lined with jagged teeth. It spoke in the guttural language of a demon. Soon, this one will succumb! My time is nigh! Then, like a flash in pan, the presence and aura of evil was drawn back into the Faust with a clap of thunder and a powerful gust of air that swirled around his partially collapsed form. The tattooed face of the half-blooded elf prince regained a semblance of life as he'd blinked, and then expelled a heavy sigh from thin parted lips. The glare that targeted the elf ranger, Liadon, lessened in hostility but maintained a degree of wariness. The mercenary looked the part of a man who'd been through a war - both within, and in reality - but on the strength of will alone, he was prepared for another fight, if it was to be. All of his fingers twitched a bit until he'd regained some of his faculties, and curled them around the handle of his swords as they rested on the blood-stained terrain. "I was hired and paid to kill the Skullfort Tribe of goblins; that's what happened. My name... My name is Faust Reinhart, Commander of Hell Fighter Company. Do we... have a problem here...?" He'd not yet risen; though weary from the battle as well as the brief manifestation of the Archdemon, he visually assessed the Forest Ranger with dull, emerald eyes. If it came down to it, could he take her without triggering a transformation into the other him? She had a sharpness to her eyes. He wouldn't dare doubt the accuracy of the arrow held by her drawn bow. If she shot, she'd hit. Dodge or deflect? Which of the two would be easier to perform?
  4. By the dozens, beads of sweat dripped and slid down a face twisted by pain; petrified by horror. The salty perspiration ignited tiny flares of agony as they'd coursed through blood-crusted cuts in the flesh, and it stung furiously when washing over glazed, hollowed eyes of an emerald hue. Yet that face held true to the terror that'd gripped the very soul; not a flinch nor a blink. As if a curtain had fallen, long, thin strands of sweat-moistened, dark brown hair had spilled down around that face. Then, there was the slightest movement as busted lips stained with dried blood trembled, and a shaky breath was exhaled and blew against the dirt and grass. It was at that moment when the dazed look to those eyes was slowly dispelled with a few rapid blinks, and there was a faint glow that showed sign of life. Those eyes stared intently at the terrain that was now so much closer; pointy tipped blades of grass caressed a face marred by cuts, scratches and bruises. The dirt had soaked in so much blood it'd turned a deep mix of brown and red, and it'd been spilled in the gallons. How'd this happen...? One wondered in thought as the mind was flooded with still images of grotesque killings; inhuman - inhumane even. It'd all gone to black a sense of the surrounding world had swirled, blurred and washed away. In absence of awareness, the consciousness dredged up the clearest memory: the town of Briare, it shined brightly as if its people had earned the adoration of the sun! The rural town had undertaken a massive project to expand its borders, build new homes and shops of business and trade, expand their fields of fruits, plants and vegetables, and pastures for the herds of sheep, goat and other animals. Then, there was the proud mayor, a human man, fashioned himself a visionary with eyes toward a future of Briare being a hub city for trade and commerce. The ambitious expansion of the town's reach encroached on territory in the wilderness claimed by goblins; the Skullfort Tribe. There'd been a few attacks, some burglaries, acts of arson, and before the violence toward Briare could grow any worse, the mayor discreetly contracted mercenaries to purge the Skullfort. It wasn't just any group of sellswords though, only the best would suffice - the costs be damned! That's where Hell Fighter Company came into the picture; an infamous organization of mercenaries known well around the continent. They took just about any job and the reputation for results were superb, be it the praise of nobles from larger than life kingdoms, or the common folk of small villages. It was said they were worth every coin demanded. And none would argue it given who the leader of Hell Fighter Company was. It was a name banished from the society of High Elves across the lands; all others only dared to say it in hushed whispers, and always with fear and respect: Faust Reinhart! The tip of a boot folded, dug into the dirt, pushed across the ground, but hadn't any traction due to the all the blood. The other foot shifted, pressed flat to the terrain so the person was only on one knee instead of both. Slowly, the man-like form adored in tattered, light armor was partially erected, with head lolled back and to one side, both shoulders wearily slumped, and hands still limp on the ground. By the left hand there was a sword, its blade had unique rune engravings. Then, near the right hand there was another sword with a red blade, a unique color for metal, easily identified as orichalcum. All fingers of each hand slid against the wet dirt, palms scrapped until both hands had made contact with the handles of the swords - each unique in their use, and strangely enough neither had been really efficient. Yet... they'd see the request fulfilled. There'd been a slaughter - Hell Fighter Company had engaged the Skullfort Tribe of goblins whilst their leader closed the deal on their payment. It was supposed to be a breeze; an easy, high paying job to relocate mere goblins to faraway grave. It was a one-sided conflict; the battlefield lined with corpses, most of them gruesomely dismembered. The scent of blood and death was thick and heavy in the air, carried by tranquil breezes of a sunny day that betrayed the warzone. Especially one with dozens upon dozens of pikes stuck in the ground and mounted with the severed heads of Hell Fighter Company. It was the scene that Faust Reinhart had stumbled upon when he'd expected to find his men in high spirits, drinking and eating, gambling and spouting their usual celebratory nonsense after a successful mission. No, what welcomed him was high-pitched screeches and hisses of a victorious Skullfort Tribe - and truly they'd earned their name. It wasn't the slaughter that'd been paid for and so a second was required... Last one! It was pure will that pushed him forward; the muscles in his legs hardened to endure the weight of his body, and he'd lunged forward armed with both of his swords. It was also pure will that held him back. Faust had been tested, forced to his limits of pain, battered and stabbed all other. The other him roared with madness; it could be heard in Faust's battle cry as he'd plunged the business end of both his swords into the abdominal region of the goblin's body. His voice had been distorted by an otherworldly force, one unfit for the mortal realm, it was one full of demonic rage and murderous intent. The leader and sole survivor of Hell Fighter Company had driven his blades through the goblin, and with what remained of his strength he'd lifted it above his head and stared into its fading, beady eyes, his own now washed in a brimming red. He roared at it, and all it'd done was belch a bubble of blood and black ooze as it had died. The Skullfort Tribe weren't goblins - they were, but also weren't. No mere goblins could've defeated and killed the entirety of Hell Fighter Company. They bled blood, but that wasn't all. There was some other substance that sustained them. The Skullforts didn't cease their mindless, aggressive violence until all of the black ooze had leaked from their bodies. It was something that'd made them much more vicious, stronger and near immortal. They'd almost overcome Faust Reinhart, and just nearly brought out the highest tier of demon, an Archdemon. The only one that currently existed in the mortal realm.
  5. The throne room quaked; walls trembled and shed small pieces of debris; the ceiling cracked and chandeliers swayed and clattered. The Devil pondered the words of his most trusted, most loyal servant, and emitted a deep, thoughtful groan; it signaled displeasure. Mephisto spoke in the ancient tongue once more, "The realm is too unstable." Words weren't just heard; they were felt with a resonance that could rattle to the very bone the same way the Devil's vocalization played the entirety of the 7th kingdom with tremors. "There is already an archdemon, an archangel and other entities that have forced the realm's tolerance to its limit; further tampering by either myself or Xellos would violate our treaty." And as it was the Infernal Realm was already at war with itself as Mephisto's wayward, usurper-of-a-son ignited a war for rule of the domain. "A conflict with those from On High would spell my defeat." The tornado of fire Mephisto's presence manifested as intensified; thin, long tongues of fire slithered along the reflective marble floor, and the inferno roared with the fury of a Supreme Being whose patience had been greatly tested. "Failure is not an option," Mephisto warned his beloved Duchess. "A master of spy craft, infiltration, manipulation and seduction, are you not?" There was a burning bright flash within the throne room, and suddenly the throne room had become a dozen times hotter, and at the heart of the blazing tornado an eye could be seen - Mephisto truly gazed upon the Succubus; his beautiful creation. "Depart! Do all that you must to fulfill my commands!" Duchess Natasha was a Succubus born from the incredibly powerful essence of Primeval Man; she possessed great power, but it wasn't a power utilized for combat. Yet she because of that she was the only being of the Infernal Realm that the Devil could dispatch on the mission. If she were to die, it'd be a loss the realm would most likely never recover from, and still it'd be even worse if the mortal realm were lost.
  6. The lore for the Abaddon roleplay has been written up in a Google Document, and will continually be updated as the role play progresses. https://docs.google.com/document/d/e/2PACX-1vQ31FWpYR6IVp5tXXHPmXfvuNEpHwkJaorAj279mnDCvYLBn9NEKGI9sQKUaISuGENSodOe_83Ya4Sd/pub
  7. The birth of a new realm; it was but a speck of black when compared to the vastness of the cosmos, and yet for such a tiny thing it'd given off the sense of having a ceaseless and bottomless hunger. It hadn't hosted any life forms, it was merely an inky, black mass that formed underneath the mortal realm; hardly noticeable or even worth noticing. Still, it'd gained the attention of a supreme being, the ruling devil of the Infernal Realm, Mephisto. The ancient and timeless entity expanded its consciousness beyond the Infernal Realm and gazed across the cosmos to the small, black sphere that rested beneath for the former Garden of Eden now known as the mortal realm. It had filled the almighty Devil with a sense of foreboding, so much so the great evil had shared his concern with his angelic counterpart, Xellos, ruler in the Realm of Order. "It will devour the mortal realm," warned Mephisto whom not only feared, but dreaded the loss of his pawns. Xellos, Chief-God, ever stoic merely grunted and said, "The Garden was lost long ago. I see no value in protecting it. If you foresee doom, I'll let it come to pass and salvage the Garden afters. It'll be a new start without your bothersome meddling." "You're a fool," Mephisto stated; both amused and infuriated at the God's lack of foresight. "Do you not see? Its feast upon the mortal realm will not quell its appetite; it'll only grow more powerful and seek to consume greater realms. Mine. Yours." "Enough, Devil. I will no longer entertain the grand zero sum game with you the same that Oberon did Obelisk! Here's what I see: a supreme being powerless to act, and therefor forced to convey to a pretend God," Xellos mocked Mephisto. "..to act in his stead. I do not doubt your foresight; you are most likely right that the Garden will be consumed and that I'm powerful enough to erase this Under Realm before it happens. That'll only serve to maintain the status quo in our power struggle. You'll suffer more from the Garden being completely lost than I will. Good luck..." ----------------------------------------------------- Mephisto's consciousness withdrew back into the domain of fiery damnation and the entirety of the Infernal Realm quaked, all nine kingdoms, and not only was the Devil's fury felt, it was heard by a ferocious roar fueled by rage. It was only briefly that the incredible presence of the Devil was felt across all of the realm before a small portion of the domain rejected him - two of the nine layers, fashioned into kingdoms had expelled any and all influence he once exercised. The Infernal Realm was under siege and at war; Mephisto's heir and exiled son had returned, and began a conquest to usurp the power to rule the Infernal Realm. Thus far into the war the first two kingdoms had been lost. As the a Devil, Mephisto's physical form was nothing more than a projection. His existence was sewn into the very fabrics of the Infernal Realm; his domain was his body, and all existed within him. He was truly master of all he surveyed up until his wayward son had ignited a war. Mephisto's presence was concentrated the 7th kingdom, it was ruled by the first succubus, Mother of Demons, the Duchess Natasha. Mephisto hadn't projected a physical form, but manifested itself as a massive, swirling pillar of fire within the throne room of the castle the Duchess resided in; storming whirlwinds of hot air whistled and howled. The Devil spoke in the ancient language of their kind; a lot of guttural pronunciations and grunts. The room shook as he spoke. "I am beset upon by imbeciles," groaned the Devil. The castle quaked at the very foundation as the Devil's displeasure was voiced. "I have a mission that I can entrust only to you," Mephisto addressed the succubus he'd assigned status of duke. She was one of his favorite creations, one of the last molded from the essence of primeval man. "You must go to the mortal realm, and seek those with power, wisdom and skill to thwart the consumption of the realm. Xellos refuses to take action, the war with Damien is taking all of my attention and power. So the mortals must rise to defend their realm, and you will unite and guide them." Mephisto knew not what was inside the blackness of the Under Realm, but he'd been haunted by the unending hunger he'd sensed. It urged him to ensure some kind of defense was mounted. "I will advise as much and often as I can, but I have sensed that there are powerful creatures in the mortal realm that if brought together to serve a single cause, can preserve the realm. You can start with the spawn of my son... The archdemon Faust Reinhart!"
  8. Hey there! Cool name Tyrant King! Did you know that there's actually a lore figure in Ursa Madeum that shares the same moniker?

    1. Show previous comments  2 more
    2. Tyrant King

      Tyrant King

      Depending on who you ask, I might fit the bill. XD My name is derived from a quote I came up: "When the pride of a king is corrupted, a tyrant is born; honor is cast aside in favor of victory by superiority." Nice to meet you though!

    3. Ataraxy


      Nice to meet you too! And that's a pretty awesome quote! It reminds me of a quote by Saint Augustine

      "He that is kind is free, though he is a slave; he that is evil is a slave, though he be a king."

    4. Tyrant King

      Tyrant King

      Excellent quote. I'll have to remember that one! Thanks.

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