Gems Of Destruction

[dragonsjem]

Leaning over a small basin of water, Dragonsjem smirks, watching a local village. Her grin growing as she watches.

"Waste of life! All of them!"

Bursting out laughing, almost cackling, as the water ripples, the image shifting to the village now on fire, illuminating the carnage as her minions slaughter the villagers. The tips of her razersharp teeth glistening in the light of the surrounding candles

"Well done..well done my minions"

Concentrating on the water the image zooms in on the head of the massacure, the ruby in her throat glowing brighter, pulsing quicker as she focuses on a figure to the side of the battle. Watching as two farmers foolishly attack him and be rewarded with a broadsword to the gut. Blood splattering as he spins around slashing at a child, who had run after his father in the chaos, slitting his throat with a single claw. Dragonsjem's twisted smile matching that of Bakan's as the sapphire in his throat pulses in response to hers. A sadistic glint of pleasure showing in his eyes as he watching his men while concentrating on Dragonsjem's voice echoing clearly in his head.

Excellent work, finish with them as you please and return to me for your next orders



Twirling around, a contented attitude about her as her blood lust was quenched once more as she makes her way down the stairs from the "tower", spiked heels clicking with every step. No one had ever witteningly found her lair unless she wanted them to. The rooms carved out of the mountain. The entrance that of a normal cave, a dragon once called home...the very dragon whose black scales she wore, coating nearly her entire body becoming not just armor but her very skin. The ruby continuing to pulse to it's own heart beat, attuned to the dragon's lifesource she now posessed.

Pushing open a door, the clicking of her shoes echoing throughout a huge room as she makes her way toward the chairs surrounding the large fire pit, a source of warmth, food, and disposing of intruders or betrayers. Leaning over the back of the oversized wooden chair toward the center, she taps her claws on the back, her long black hair falling forward over the chair and occupant. The occupant continues to stare at the fire, his emerald gem reflecting the flames, a green light dancing on the nearby walls. Both staring at the fire, nearly mesmerized before she speaks.

"Have you finished disposing of the latest "infestation?"

His response but a nod as he casually nudges an arm back into the fire with a quick brush of his skeletal foot, his claw scraping across the stone floor. Dragonsjem smiles, moving to perch atop the chair's arm, nudging Darkling's black cloak out of her way, metal bracers catching the light as they are uncovered

"Very nice, tonights attack will be just a taste of what those snivling weaklings will endure. Bakan will return in due time, then we shall plan our full assult. Those sniviling warriors they are sure to recruit will never reach us in time with the plans I have for them. They will be fun to toy with before we destory them all."

---------------------------------------------------------------------------
A lone child stumbles in the darkness as he runs quickly through the fields, the screams of his friends and neighbors burned into his head, tears streaming from his eyes. Heading to a neighboring village, fearing the next group of homes will resemble his own. A shout of joys slips past his lips mingled with his gasps for air as he spots the distant window outlined by a candle's glow.

Reaching the village he pounds on a door and falls into the arms of an older man who quickly recognizes him. The child utters four words before he collapses from exhaustion...dragon...mistress...all dead.... Handing the child to his wife, the man goes door to door sounding the alert. The call goes quickly spreads from town to town with but one name: DRAGONSJEM


******************************************************
Here's how this thread works:
You chose to be either a band of good guys trying to reach and defeat the prime evil :me.
There will be two RPers who will serve as our evil minons, given 5 NPC to hinder the good guys, but only at the DM's orders. The evil RPers are already chosen. (Darkling will also serve as my co-DM).

The band will face challenges ranging from opponents to riddles and puzzles. Neither the good nor bad side are destined to win. The outcome will be determined by good RPing. RPers on either side CAN die and some will.

Post your characters for approval including NAME, RACE, SKILLS, WEAPONS/POSESSIONS(including such things as rope and flints. Improvize, you may need any of these for the challenges but don't get carried away or i will edit you) and HISTORY
Races allowed are human, elf, dwarf, halfling and orc or combinations there of. (You may suggest another race in PM to me) There will be no flying characters.

[Darkling]

Name – Darkling Blight

Race – Undead Skeleton

Skills – Necromancer

Weapons – Bone staff, Claws

Possessions – Spell Tome, Blank Scrolls and ink well/pen

History –



Once an infamous necromancer, who attempted to gain immortality and power by becoming a Lich in secret. Other forces where at work that night though as the Arcane order a now dead order of powerful mages intervened, causing the spell to fail crippling him in the resulting magic backlash of power, for his crime he was sentenced to life eternal bound to his decaying crippled body until time itself ceased to exist, powerless but aware of all that was happening around him as lesson in humility.



Hundreds of years passed as darkling was forced to endure the darkness and solitude of his tomb, almost driving him into the depths of madness where it not for the thoughts of hatred towards the mages who punished him, nurturing the hatred like a parent would a child. The silence of his laboratory turned tomb was not all he could hear or see, the gift of foresight was put upon him to see the times that would pass him above ground, civilisations growing from the ashes of old to fall into very same ashes themselves.



An unusual event happened one day the tomb was broken into not by a mere grave robber, for they would find no grand possessions within this tomb, but a strange women clad in the skin of a dragon or so it seemed carrying a green emerald that radiated power. Finding his skinless corpse desecrated, the rags that where his robes falling into dust littering the ground, feeling an odd feeling of fear from this person Darkling’s mind racing with possibilities after so long of being alone. He reconsider this one seen her in a vision leading an army upon a village, losing the image in confusion only able to watch as she placed the emerald onto his corpse.



A wave of nausea rolling over him, the feeling of being dragged forcefully around the room as emerald seem to spread quivering legs biting itself upon the remains of his neck. Seconds later nothing could be felt or heard slowly regaining his vision to look upon the women who had moved his corpse with a purpose in mind, startled to feel movement cold and numb as it was there was no pain but movement none the less daring to speak

“Why have you awakened me from my ling slumber, long have I lingered in this place. Such is the curse of my lust for power.”

A grim sadistic smile greeting him her voice rattling inside his head with unspoken words

[i]“Power can be yours once more, serve me and it shall be so”[i]



Darkling look deeply into the eyes of this dragon women feeling his old powers stir within him again, a rush of magic exhilarating him into bliss, bones twisting and contorting wildly as his once human fingers started getting longer and sharper, feeling protruding lumps from his back his whole body changing shape.

“An ancient evil awakens, one that shall be bound to you forever more”

His voice deep and distant sounding, nothing natural about it he was now one cursed undead, a curse he gladly accepted, if just to be bale to reap the vengeance that he had harboured all those centuries of isolation.



Appearance –



Standing about the height of a human, his bones still holding some trace of their original colour after centuries of being in darkness. Elongated claws where fingers should be, bones striking out of his back the outline of where wings should be where he alive, dropping down his back. Wearing a helmet upon his skull draping down with cloth underneath covering all but the empty sockets of his eyes, resting upon his shoulder bones lightly. A robe covering the rest of his body except for his feet and hands. Decorated in black cloth, skull shaped armour covering his knee’ down to his feet and shoulders holding the robe in place, metal ruined bracers strapped to the length of his wrists. Leaving his claws free for movement, often seen walking around with a wooden staff, adorned in a hanging shrunken skull, pair of skeletal hands holding a black ord tightly within their grasp at the top, fingers bones working their way down in spiral pattern to a few centimetres the rest of the staff decorated with wood with patterns carved down its length.

[flapjack]

name: Nibimacarion
race: Mountain elf
age:
skills: fire mage, just finished apprenticehood
amateur swordfighter
equipment: Elven short sword, forged by an elven smith, much lighter then a normal sword and faster to use, but also slightly more fragile
quarterstaff, imbedded with a small magical crystal which is capable of absorbing and storing magical energy and can thus be used to store magical energy when 1 is not capable of using it, to then use it later to boost your spells
robes of fire, robes woven with special fire resistant materials, such a robe is often used by apprentices when practising small fire spells, it absorbs most if not all damage from natural fires and weak fire spells, however has little effect on powerful spells and when wet becomes extremely heavy, it also tears rather easily
survival equipmentfood rations, small knife for preparing food/skinning animals, flint stones for making fires without using magic, some rope, blankets, kit for repairing clothing and a small amount of the threads used for the robes of fire

Spells: fireball, the old classic of fire mages, the fireball is a simple yet potentially quite potent weapon, it is for most mages a simple ball of flame that upon impact causes a small explosion, however some powerfull mages have become such experts with this simple weapon as to be capable of creating explosion powerfull enough to tear down the walls of even the strongest fortress.
firestream, a stream of fire coming forth from the hands of the caster, this powerfull flame can burn through most armour and kill the men inside, it is however short range only and cannot be sustained for long.
fireblast, an evolvement of the fireball, the fireblast is more difficult to cast, but also much faster to cast, its damage is comparable to a fireball but its speed unrivaled.
fire shield, a shield of fire and magic, it is less capable of stopping magic then a normal magical shield, but has the added advantage of burning anything or 1 trying to get through and thus blocking melee attacks as well.
flame, a simple, instantly hitting, fire attack, nothing more then a sudden large amount of heat being created on a target, called flame because the target almost always burst into flames.

appearance: tough short for an elf, Nibimacarion is not thick, he is about the same height as an average human and is neither muscular or extremely thin/fragile, his muscles are small, but show that Nibimacarion is stronger then 1 would come to expect from a mage. His short, dark, hair is not very well kept, but not neglected either and his deep green eyes would reveal no secrets to the untrained eye.

history: Born from a farmers family in a small mountain side village, Nibimacarion's magical gifts were discovered at the age of 18, when he first started exhibiting an interest for magic, and specifically, fire magic. He entered apprenticehood at the age of 20 and his magical potential grew quickly in the first few years. It has not been untill his 26th year of age however that he reached a peak in his power, ending his faster then normal growth of magical abilities and putting him at an average level for mages. Nibimacarion's master however believed that it was not his true power that Nibimacarion was exhibiting and tought that perhaps he needed some new incentive to grow in power and thus Nibimacarion ventured out into the world, were he explored for almost 2 decades before returning home, still not much more powerfull then when he left. But now a new threat has arisen and Nibimacarion left home again, this time to help defeat this threat and hopefully in the process become much more powerful then he currently is.

Nibimacarion learned to use his sword from an old friend of his, 1 that he encountered many years ago and long before his apprentice-hood, it was him who taught Nibimacarion most of what he currently knows about swordfighting while he was training. In his long years of exploring the world Nibimacarion has however slightly improved on this and is now reasonably capable of wielding a sword and thus a lot less vulnerable in close combat then 1 would expect of a mage, something which many a rogue discovered when Nibimacarion suddenly struck with his short sword.

[Heiro]

Name: Eown Hare.
Profession: None. Or Drunk, depending on how you look at it.
Skills: Lacking in anything professionally, except his training in a monastary at a young age. of his past before the age of 15 he knows nothing, and of his past he chooses to recount nothing.
Age: 61
Previous positions: Monk of the Seasonal Wind, high master of the temple of caochin valley.
Current Position: none held.
Possessions: The clothes he wears, which amount to rags. And a small pouch containing enough gold for three good bottles of wine.

* [Current Situation]

The sun beats on the high locales of the mountains far from his home. The safety of its walls passed one pair of 20 years back, scores of bottles and jugs and fermentation barrels lay in his wake since then, parching his already tarnished reputation. Ashamed now, he sits on his rock, his only safe possession, the only thing that has yet to fall apart in his shambolic life. Orders of monkhood, they can do nothing but prolong the enevitable with his choice of words, and actions, and workings. Too late for those thoughts now, he just sits in t he sun, thinking about his shame, his banishment, his skills. His style. All his problems spring from it, dragging him down. Yet still people try to get him to teach it. Sending them away is painful, but they have to know the ruin it causes. the utter devastation to ones life...

...After quiet Nothing for hours, he looks up at the fading sun, before climbing down and looking at his sheltered pile of vegetables, and the firewood for a stew. Climbing down for a second, he begins to cook...

[Maniacal_Intent]

Name: Maniacal Intent
Race: Dwarf
Class: Fighter
Weapons: Great Axe
Possesions: Flint and Steel, Rucksack, Lean-To style tent.

History: Not Applicable to Situation at hand.

Update: Management has decided that the previous History segment IS applicable and follows shortly.

New and Relevant History: An otherwise average member of dwarven society Intent exhibits a rather tempremental and violent personality. This trait has lead to his expulsion from his position in his village's militia, his village and banishment from the dwarven nation as the various elders and chieftains found that he enjoyed the killing far too much. Intent now travels as an axe-for-hire and has worked such jobs as caravan/merchant guard, bodyguard and bandit/raider removal.

[Bakan]

Name: Bakan
Race: Half Human/Half Dragon
Age: 267
Appearance: About 5'10". Clad in dark pants and hooded shirt lightly armored. The hood has magical qualities of absorbing all light thus preventing anyone from seeing his face while it is raised. Out of his back are two Dragon Wings, usually folded around his body, but in combat moving to suit his movements.
Abilities:
Dragon Scales: Normally, Bakan's skin is lightly covered with Dragon Scales, able to partially deflect a arrow or sword. When fully covered, they can resist/block crossbolts and swords.
Strength: Bakan normally has the strength of 2 men, but can tap more and more into his dragon side, increasing his strength to that of 10 men.
Claws: Normally Bakan's hands are human looking with small talons at the ends of each finger, yet when needed the hands can grow, become tougher and larger, with sharper and more deadly claws.
Dragon Wings: Of his group, Bakan is the only one who has wings. The wings are mostly vesgital, only able to let Bakan glide if he fell from a sufficient height. They can also act as shields, blocking arrows and light weapons, but most effective against flame, and as weapons as he can move them to his will.
Regeneration: Given time, and assuming a wound is not instantly fatal, Bakan can regenerate himself with only minimal scarring. While in combat regeneration can only heal minor wounds and keep Bakan alive in the event of a major wound.
Speed, Agility, Stamina: With his hybrid nature, Bakan's speed and agility have been increased to slightly above peak human, with his stamina boarding on insane.
Weapons:
Heavy Enhanced Broadsword: From his previous life, this weapon is enhanced magically, making it sharper and tougher than the average weapon. Also with concentration it can surround itself with flame.
Magical Dragon Gaunlets of Flame: These gauntlets allow Arrias to summon intricate fire spells:
Fire Web: Bakan can create a web of flame, and is able to leave it in place without his concentration.
Fire Shield: Bakan can summon a rather large fire shield, approximently 8 feet by 8 feet, able to incinerate arrows and burn anyone who rushes into it.
Fire Arrows: From his gauntlets, Bakan can launch devasating arrows of fire at targets.
Fire whips: By weaving together his fire arrows and fire web spells, Bakan can create fire whips that can strike targets with great precision.
Flame Blast: The most powerful ability, can only be used once a day without some outside boost, this creates a 360 degree blast of pure flame that incinerates a wide area. The only known protection is the gems that controls Dragonsjems and Darklings minions, which will protect those that have it implanted. It is also rumored that if the wearer of the gaunlets was killed, this ability woudld automatically be triggered.
Knife of Conversion: A large knife, almost a short sword, that Bakan rarely uses. It is rumored that one stabbed with this knife will fall into a death-like state, and will be converted into a demon like Arrias.
History:
A long time ago, Arrias was a famous assassin. What made him unique was that he only took missions against the most evil scum of the world. He and his band were very effective, rarely failing in their missions. Approximently 200 years ago, several kingdoms hired Arrias and his associates. Their mission, to assassinate the one known as the Dragon Mistress. They literally offered the riches of their kingdoms for the mission due to their desperation.
Preparing for the mission, they all knew the riskes, and prepared themselves. For several long months, they tracked the minions of the Dragon Mistress, and eventually learned of her plot to revive Darkling Blight. Throwing away caution, they launched a daring attack. The battle was simply a slaughter, for by the time they attacked, Darkling Blight was revived. Desperate they attacked, only to find themselves easily restrained by the Darkling Blight, and wounded to the point of death. Yet Arrias, summoning strength he didn't even know from where, managed to slip through and attacked the Dragon Mistress diesctly. Attacking with his sword, Arrias found her able to deflect his every attack, until she got bored and shoved her hand into his chest. Summoning every last bit of strength, Arrias stabbed at her, and struck her chest, only to find his sword jam itself into her shoulder, only 1/2 way through. Falling limp, Arrias at that moment died.
Looking at the body, the Dragon Mistress smiled as she pulled out the sword, the wound already healing. Looking at her love, she nodded, and pulled out a short sword and stabbed Bakan in the chest. Pulling it out, she laided him onto a slab of stone and implaned a shapire jewel into his throat. She them repeated this procedure with all of Bakan's associates. With this done, she and Darkling Blight
summoned a forbidden spell, using a dead dragon and infusing it's essance into the dead assassins, changing them both externally and internally, and breathing new life into them.
Several hours later the being formerally known as Arrias opened his eyes. Raising himself up, he screamed in great pain as two wings exploded out of his back, dripping blood as they grew. Looking at his hands, and seeing them change, growing talons, with the rest of his flesh developing scales, the being now known as Bakan stood and bowed before his new master, the Dragon Mistress. Joining him on their knees were his converted associates, their new dragon-like skins shimmering, not as strong as Bakan but just as deadly and loyal to Bakan and Dragonsjem and Darkling.

[Zappa Tenderlea]

Name: Thungarth Cuttinbolt
Race: Dwarf
Skills: Hard Labour, Calculating, Language, Dwarven Diplomacy, Torture, Intimidation, Climbing, Cooking, Survival, Digging, Rockrecognition, Lute, Singing, Axewielding, Burping.
Weapons: doublebladed Dwarven Waraxe, Knife, whip
Posessions: 5m of sturdy rope, Dwarven Pony, Saddlebag, cookingpot, huntingbow and arrows (non-combat, good enough to kill rabbits and stuff, but not a horde of undead ), tent 1 person, pipe, pipeweeds (remember teh hobbits?), backpack, 5 torches, magical firespitter ( a friggin' lighter....), sleepingbag, graplinghook, shovvel, magnifyingglasses, amulet of the Cuttinbolt clan
Age: 153 years old
History: Thungarth was born a dwarf, and plans to die like one: old, lazy, and in bed with a younger female specimen. But in the meanwhile, He roams the lands looking for wealth, in order to lure those younger female specimens. He is welltrained in the art of combat, as all of his race usualy are, and in the art of Rocks, as all of his tribe are. Other than that, he's not really special. (xept maybe the prophecy that one day he would free the land of ..... ya know... the evil one... alcohol!)

the amulet of the cuttingbolt clan: a strange amulent, in the form of a lightningaxe, lahsing out at a flame with a face. It is believed to represent the dwarven wars of centuries ago, where 2 tribes wared against each other, the Cuttingbolt clan, which won, and survived and the firebrand clan. This clan was exterminated. The truth behind the amulet is not so far away from this thought... it was made indeed to represent the Cuttnbolt clan's victory, but also to achieve it. The Amulet gives the wearer a relatively strong level of protection against the element of Fire. all clanmembers wear one.

[vampire_lestat]

name:- lestat lionheart
race:- insouled vampire
age:- 345
skills/abilities:- as a vampire, lestat has inhanced speed, strength, and stanima (alongside inhanced senses) but becomes as weak as an ordinary human when touched by sunlight. As an experienced warrior before his death, lestat has learned to use any two of his weapons at the same time (even in broad daylight).
weapons:-
short sword (roughly as long as one of lestats legs), scabbard at his left hip, made of black steel, the blade cold as ice, after a wound is inflicted with it, the victims reflexes are dulled slighty, making them slightly easier to fight/kill.
Broadsword, sheathed on his back, the long hilt just sticking up over his right shoulder.
Smallaxe, the shaft is roughly the same length of his short sword, and the head is roughly the size of two hands placed side by side, left and right.
possesions:-
sharpening stones for swords. about 30ft of rope, and Iron hooks to tie to the end (for scailing walls). Leather belt with scabbard for sword and loop for axe (alongside an assortment of throwing knives)
apperance:-
Lestat is tall (just over 6ft) with long blond hair tied out of the way of his wintercool blue eyes by a length of leather. Wearing black scale mail armour and a long black cloak, with black trouser things and solid black leather boots lestat looks genuinely nasty, but what do you expect, he did used to be an evil bastard, after all.
history:-
Once a great general for a now dead land, lestat was turned into a vampire by one of the first, an evil creature who opposed the dark lady dragonsgem and her lackie Darkling, as they turned people into undead creatures, or othersuch demons, who's blood is undrinkable to vampires.

After over one hundred years of rampaging and killing with abandon, lestat ran afoul with a small group of mages, who happened to have some skill in necromancy. After killing several of their soilder guards, the mages cursed lestat with a soul, with no way to lose it, thinking he would soon starve to death. However, lestat found that his newfound soul did not suffer if he killed evil doers, hence going on the quest to kill dragonsgem, as, with her dead, the evil of the world would be limited to humanity, thus allowing lestat to drink more freely.

[dragonsjem]

Flapjack: approved
MI; approved
Heiro: approved
Zappa: how strong of a resistance does your amulet give. ie. would it make you resistant to a mage of one of those elements or just he elements in their natural state? If it's the first, you need to either decrease the resistance or only apply it to one or maybe two elements. If it's the 2nd, then the char is approved..
lestat: approved

I should be starting this thread on the 26th or late christmas day.

[Zappa Tenderlea]

editted

[flapjack]

*flapjack hopes it'll be late christmas day, since he will probably (tough not certainly) post this evening*

[dragonsjem]

Zappa: approved

Flapjack, late christmas US time.

[flapjack]

that's, early, for me, let's see, 7 or 8 hours time difference

oh well, i'd still be able to post reasonably quickly, namely 12AM the next morning

[dragonsjem]

Flapjack be patient. I was waiting for everyone's characters before i outlined the complete plot. Besides you're the only one who this anxious and free. There is a 6 hour time difference between us and I have a life. if you must, post something about heading to the city. If not wait for me.

[flapjack]

i'll wait, i'll just use the extra to do other things

*flapjack goes back to playing warpath for a while*

[Heiro]

Originally Posted by dragonsjem

Flapjack be patient. I was waiting for everyone's characters before i outlined the complete plot. Besides you're the only one who this anxious and free. There is a 6 hour time difference between us and I have a life. if you must, post something about heading to the city. If not wait for me.

Well said. I am still alive, and ill reconsile my utterly crappy first post later on.

[PyRo`]

Name: "Qualme"
Race: Human
Sex: male
Age: 26
Class: ex-assasin

Skills:
stealth, climbing, speed, agility, patience, endurance and excelent night vision and eye sight all of which have been learnt from an early age and are now second nature to him. Although he is both strong and fast he is no warrior, he was trained to attack using the element of suprise to his advantage, because of this he will try to avoid face to face battles opting to disapear and attacking later rather than risk his life against a stronger opponent.

Weapons:
Sword - curved blade similar to a katana, but with a more pointed tip, it has a broadsword style handle and hilt with a 3" spike protruding from the bottom of the handle, the first 6" of the blade is serated and the sword its self reflects no light and is almost invisble in the dark.
Dagger - exotic in apearance, 7" double edged razor sharp blade with a point as fine as a needle, but unbreakable, the blade its self is split 4" down the center from the tip with the rear edge slightly shorter than the front edge, the dagger is used as a backup weapon, but is also usefull as a tool and has many uses due to its unusal design, like the sword this dagger reflects no light and is almost invisble in the dark.

Possesions: rope, small pouch containing 34 gold pieces (all that's left of his previous riches), some thread and a needle for stiching wounds and repairs, small saw and a lump of flint, 2 smoke bombs, sharpening stone, a small viral of oil used for maintenance of his sword and dagger, a scrap of cloth used for cleaning his blades, a small candle, a hip flask of whiskey (mainly used for disinfecting wounds, but can be used to help those long nights pass quicker), water bottle and a small tin for cooking.

Apearance: around 6ft tall, dressed completly in black wearing nothing that might catch the light, he wears a hooded cloak which conceals many pockets and reaches just beyond his knees, on his legs he wears ragged yet tough trousers and and on his hands he wears fingerless leather gloves. He has long black hair going a couple of inches bellow his shoulders and scar from left cheek to chin passing over his lips. His sword is worn on the left hand side of his thick leather belt in a plain black sheath hidden from view by his cloack, his dagger is worn in a plain black sheath strapped to his leg a few inches above his right knee.

History:
Coming from a long family of assasins he has been brutally trained in the art of assasination since he was able to walk, at the age of 9 he killed his first man who was asleep in bed with his wife at the time (the wife was not wokenm nor was his daughter), this was his first of countless kills, he would kill anybody for the right price.
At the age of 24 he was hired for a relativly normal assasination by a young women, but things went wrong when he was ambushed while moving in for the kill, a blade narrowly missed his eye and sliced from the top of his left cheek down through his lips stopping at his chin leaving him permanently scarred, he luckily managed to escape using a smoke bomb as a diversion, he later found out his client was the daughter of the first man he murded 15 years earlier, he brutaly murdered the familys, friends and loved ones of all those who conspired against him leaving the conspirers alone to live bitter and empty lives out of spite for them. He then turned his back on assasination for good after realising his desire for riches was not worth dying for, he soon replaced his desire for riches with the desire for power.
He has spent the past 2 years wandering from village to village, never staying in one place for more than a few nights and keeping himself to himself since there is still many who hate him for the crimes of his previous life.

[Muha]

ooc// Pyro, i would like to welcome you on behalf of everyone, just stay away for Ur_Quan, hes crazy//ooc

[PyRo`]

ooc// thanks and thanks alot to dragonsjem for dragging me in here //ooc

[dragonsjem]

ooc//you're welcome pyro` and as you know your char is approved. Okay, sorry i took so long but here's the intro. //ooc


The thought of going after the Dragon Mistress alone sent chills up the spines of even the bravest warriors. Those who fought their fears and went in search of her, never returned. The rumors circled that she had somehow posessed the last band who had faced her directly. Legends of that band were told constantly in all the guilds. Some say there were theives after the vast hoard of jewels she had collected, possibly by killing dragaons. Others argued they were brave warriors seeking to make their name. Others still believed they were assassins hired by the kings of old. And others still refused to believe it, claiming they had defeated her at the cost of their lives. This was the main belief as her reign of terror ended soon after....that was until the massacures started again.

A hundred long years had passed since the fateful night when the kings joined forces to send those brave fighters. Time had passed and only stories of the time remained, a time of glory, a time of wealth followed inevitably by a time of war. Dragonsjem had remained in her lair watching, planning, and recruiting descretely. Men were too concerned with their petty fights to remember her. The realm evolved into what it is was today. A single capital toward the south and numerous little villages. This was just the time Dragonsjem had waited for, such easy picking. Villages were destroyed quickly. First once every few months, then every month, until now her death toll increased every week. Those wishing to help begin heading to the capital. Recruits are many, no matter their reason for coming, but it all centers around the Dragon Mistress.

The city lies in front of you, enormous compared to the nearly bare surroundings. Rolling Hill lies atop a large hill, gaining it's name from the surrounding hilly countryside along with its method of defense during the wars. The walls tower even from your distance and as you move closer, you feel in awe to the iron gates, needing forty strong men to close them. The gates remain open in the day time, welcoming those from the surrounding villages. The fear of an attack causing many to pack up and head for safety has led to an extremely overpopulated city. Fighting through the crowds, you head for the tavern you spy in the distance, in hopes of news of recent attacks and of recruitment. The city much too crowded to find any signs of the guilds so the tavern will have to suffice. There you will find your companions for the journey.

[Heiro]

"Not another tavern"

Eown walks slowly through the crowds, his hand closed around his pouch to avoid the subtle art of pickpocketing. Pushing through people to cover the last few feet, he looks up at the sign. The Clover, it reads, and he thinks to himself: Sounds tame, in comparsion. Pushing open the door, and ducking under the flying chair, he looks around the hole of hell he stepped into. At the bar, 3 men sit drinking from large glasses, and across the room to his left, a large beast of a man, nearly 2 and a half metres tall is seen hitting a smaller man across the chin, before taking a chair to the thirds back, leaving them sprawled out on the floor. Clearing the threshhold of the door, he staggers for a second under the smell of the place, heavy air, and smoke, from the firepits, along with the damped walls. Getting to the bar, over the body of a man, and the reminants of a chair, Eown asks for a drink

"Ill have a glass of your finest water please. Make it a big glass."
"We dont serve water...Ale, or nothing."
Placing a gold piece on the table, he gestures for the barman to do his job
"Like i said, Water please."
"the finest glass of water you've ever seen coming right up..."

[Zappa Tenderlea]

grmph... noisy annoying humans... always in the way aren't they...

mumbling under his breath, Thungarth made his way to the tavern, and put his pony in the stable. untrusting of the humans, he tied his steed down with a double dwarven rockbinderknod, got the saddlebags, and went inside the tavern. He looked around calmly, dodging the ocasional thrown object, and hoped to find some dwarven comrades, or at least a lifeform that looked like it deserved some kind of respect...

[PyRo`]

"great, more drunks.."

Qualme opens the tavern door, there is an overwhelming stench of vomit, ale and urine in the air.
"animals.."
he mutters as he enters, he ignores the dagger that just embedded its self in the door frame narrowly missing his head, he proceeds towards the bar pushing his way through the crowd stepping over a drunk lying passed out or possibly dead on the filthy ground
"dont these people have any shame?"
he asks himself as he reaches the bar toppling over an old man stinking of urine who is too drunk to notice that he is now lying on the ground between two drunks, each armed with broken bar stools
"barkeep, a clean picter, if you have such a thing of your finest ale!"
he demands as he tosses a dull and battered gold peice to the bartender, the bartender catches the gold piece and rushes off to look for a clean pitcher, knowing better than to argue back to the dark looking stranger
"why do i always end up surrounded by scum like this?"
he mutters quietly eyeing the barbarian balanced on the wooden bar stool next to him as he awaits the return of the bartender....

[flapjack]

*Nibimacarion quickly made his way into the inn, his deep red cloak covering his entire body and a hood hanging over his head in such a way that his face is constantly in the shadow, his quarterstaff attracting most attention with a finely carved crystal resting at the very top of it, the silhouette of a short sword visible on Nibimacarion's side. Taking a seat in 1 of the corners where it is reasonably calm and simply observing the others, mostly humans, in the inn for a while, waiting for something to happen*

[vampire_lestat]

walking down the street, lestat notices a steady stream of what looks like either adventurers or wrong-doers entering into a pub named 'the clover'.

either one would serve a fitting purpose lestat thought.

Entering with cation, as long as daylight was touching him he would be as weak as a human. Seeing a man in a coat, the hood pulled o, with a bizarre looking staff, a mage, lestat suspects. Approaching the strange man, lestat attempts not to look too much like a creature of the dark.

"good day, sir. I hope you don't find this too direct, but i was rather looking for a group to travel with to face the dark lady dragonsgem, and by your apperance you looked to be the kind of traveler to be useful on such a journey"

[Heiro]

"The Lady Dragonsjem! You must be either foolhardy, mad, or a mix of both! But don't go mentioning her in here, you scare the locals."

Sipping his water, Eown leans heavily on the bar, and using one of his two remaining coins, he begins throwing a single gold lump into the air, and catching it again, variance in the height and speed, showing some feats of skill, and seemingly luck. Turning back to the barkeep, he smiles, before turning back to lestat.

"Sort of Traveller... you must be blind good man, im dressed in rags, dirty rags, and my hair has all but elluded me in the last few years, because as you can see, im quite old. Unlike yourself, i may hasten to presume. Youth these days, Never thinking things through. Rushing off to kill Dragons indeed. If such a thing even exists... Would you like a drink, im sure the keep will get you one with my second glass of water, especially since the change i gave was ampel for the whole evening..."

Looking at the keep, he jestures for another mug, as he downs the rest of the glass...

[vampire_lestat]

*lestat looks at Eown*

"no thank you, good sir, i dont drink. Am i right in assuming that you are the former high priest Eown Hare? Your stance was quite unorthadoq, and someone of your experience in this world would be useful o a quest such as this. As to my own youth, apperances can be decieving, my friend. However, if you do not want to help........"
*lestat fains rising from his seat*

[flapjack]

*Nibimacarion quickly dismissed it when he tought he heard someone mentioning lady Dragonsjem, he didn't think anybody would mention her in these parts, but a second mention of her within only a few seconds of the first made Nibimacarion sure, there was either someone stupid or someone very brave around here, possibly someone that could be used to get him closer to the lady, close enough to kill her*

*thus Nibimacarion rose from his seat and walked over to the 2 strangers, 1 dressed in rags, the other in all black, indicating either a necromancer, a vampire or some idiot who likes black to much for his good*

"Well, both of you, a man in rags and 1 black, what business would you have discussing the Lady? Especially you, what are you, a necromancer?"

ooc/ heiro, you might not have noticed (or you might have purposely ignored it) but lestat was trying to talk to me /ooc

[Zappa Tenderlea]

grmph... seem to have stumbled into a strange tavern here... drunken humans bent on disgusting me, and foolish creatures talking about the Dragonlady as if she were but a bug to be squashed underfoot... or maybe they really are powerfull enough?

*Thungarth lifted himself oncemore, and slowly walked towards the small group of fools*

'can you people please take it down a notch? "she" has spies everywhere... next thing you know "she" finds out about you lot, and has this city exterminated, or you 3 assasinated'

with this, he takes a seat close to the group, and speaks no more... just listens

[Darkling]

Everyone in the group
The groups attetnion is diverted as a cloacked man seems to wade through the crowds, pushing past the drunkards and fools being merry and gay. A roar of trumiph breaks out in the corner as a frail looking man seems to be cowering before a stronly built labourer from the look of his sun bleached uniform, catching your attention enough to not notice as the cloaked figure stands a few feet away, the sound of metal scrapping along the ground as he drags his two handed sword with a weariness in his step.
"Only fools or madmen speak of such things in the open, not that there is much diffrence between the two for I once sought to seek out the Dark lady myself. I pay for it yet"
His voice croaky with misuse, his eyes covered in black icy stare. Collasping with an effort in the chair nearby you, the aged cloak falling open to reveal a rusted chiamail shirt hanging over his bony body, looking gastly pale under the dim candle light of the inn. worn trousers with tears ripped across them, in his hand he cluctches onto the pommel of the large looking sword, its edge dented badly from use. His voice but a dry crackle amongst the rawdy behaviour of the inn's inhabitants, bone cheeks sticking out in a ghastly way as he speaks.
"My time is short within this world, so cursed am I to wiether away to dust, the pleasure of food,drink and women are denied me now. Before that times comes though I shall aid you were I can, and start you on journey that I would beg you to reconsider now. Though the stuborn rearly learn their lessons the easy way as they say."
His breath weazy taking his time drawing in the air as if everyone was his last.

To everyone outside the group

Within an isolated corner of the smoke filled atmosphere the ramblings of drunks wildy being flung into the air. Normaly it would attarct even the most unitrested of peoples attention to see this odd mix of characters sitting togethor.Although this is a pub full of drunks after all who could barle see past their nose, let alone smell the purtid stench hanging in the air.

[Heiro]

[ooc] By choice i ignored it...[ooc]

"I consider myself both a fool, and a mad man, lord."

Eown bows, as if to something honourable, not of the other world. turning back to Lestat, he smiles. In his mind, Eown curses the knowing eyes of that man, eyeing his equipment and his demeanour. As if satisfied, his smile colapses into a dangerous stare.

"My stance is normal for everybody from my school. And You know nothing of My stance, for no one has seen it in 20 years. And im no high priest, so keep that straight."

turning around once again, he looks forward at the man, scanning his eyes looking for any emotion, any sign of life. Sitting down once again, he looks over at him, and speaks

"Surely, I can trust you no less than the next man, but you have my sword, as it were. Never try to avert a man of peace from his path again..."

[PyRo`]

Qualme places down his ale and looks rather unsettled at the latest addition to the group of what he assumed to be a fools seeking an untimely death.
"Has the great lady sent this decrepit old man to dispose of these fools? maybe it's a trap? or maybe he's here on his accord?"
he asks himself as he slowly moves closer to the queer group, while making sure not to do anything to draw attention to himself. He takes a seat a few meters away from a dwarf who also apears to be interested in these strange happenings then reaches into his own cloack and produces his water bottle and takes a sip to wash away the bitter taste of cheap ale before returning it to his cloack.

[flapjack]

*Nibimacarion listened silently to this old, apparently veteran, man before apparently reaching a decision upon what to do*

"Very well, you say you can take us closer to the Lady and the Lady is after all what we seek to find and destroy, therefore I will gladly join you"

[Darkling]

OOC - Flapjack for your information if you read the intro to this indervidual he is not here to join you as he is in no fit state, but rather as a starting point for your quest. Its not going to be as easy as being taken there. Also note for you all to save some confusion this strnager is not my character so you dont get confused on this point this is me dming. Ill wait for the others to reply before my next DM post.

[flapjack]

ooc/ he said, quite clearly, that he could at least give us information about how to find her, that's why i assumed that he would get us closer to the lady, be it by directly bringing us closer or by giving us directions/other help /ooc

[vampire_lestat]

*lestat looks at the crippled, decrepid old man, and slowly contemplates the situation at hand.*

"Old man, you say you have information that can help us on this quest, would you kindly share it before you leave us?"

*lestat looks at the rest of the group*

"I take it you are all willing to join me on the quest, now then? Or would you rather sit back, while the dragon queen destroys all that you hold deer in this world?"

[Maniacal_Intent]

Trying to force his way through the people thronging the CIty gates, Intent mutters insults under his breth as he moves around people on horses, people on carts and just plain people. Intent shoves aside a fat man blocking his way and walks into the relatively clear area on the city side of the gate. Pausing for a moment he takes off his simple metal helm and scrubs the sweat out off his eyes. Replacing his helmet, Maniacal adjusts his pack and looks for a place to drown his thirst.

Entering the Tavern where Thungarth, Nibimacarion, Eown et all are currently he buys a tankard of ale from the barkeeper and starts wandering through the crowded floor looking for a free seat. Jostling occassional patrons as he pushes past he finds a seat in an isolated corner of the tavern. Taking a long pull of the ale Intent eyes the people at his table. An elf, A few humans and a fellow dwarf.

"So men, What's the good word?"

[Darkling]

The decrepit looking stranger slowly turns his head as the new perosn arrives, glaring harshly at him.

"Keep your voice down, if you insist on sitting there and disturbing our talks then at least do it quietly."
Ragged tone to his creaking voice in that moment, turning back to a hard sounding edge about it.
"I have no doubt some of you do not trust me, others may be weary but shall listen otherwise, whsilt some are under diffrent impressions all togethor."
His eyes cold darting between you all stopping at the red clooked elf in the last instant.
"Make no mistake I am not helping you out of the kindness in my heart, but for revenge agaisnt those that I hate more than anyhting else in this world, in my world, and the subsuqent destoryers of it."
A heavy breath being drawn in causing as a seconds pause reigns, the noise of the room seemed to diseaper as this mans words started to intrest you.

"I wont regale you with a life's story, but if you truly seek the dark one, beware of her minions. Merciless and uncaring all of them they would slaughter man, women, and child with a disregard that even death cannot hold to though those who are lucky end up that way."
His face straining under some pressure of his re-collections, dark memories best left forgotten creep out of the darkness of his mind, driving him almost to tears with their screams. Snapping back as quickly as he was about to break down composing himself again as best as his anticquated looks would allow.
"Beware even more so those who commands her minions, her generals, each as horrific as each other. Powerfull in their arts wether through swords and magic there are rarly seconds chance with either"
His breaths becoming more shallow and deeper with every word being uttered, a decaying smell hung to his breath like a fowl corpse.

"I grow tired and shall need rest soon, so my words shall be few. Know that your destination lies north seek out the towns who mourn for the dead or stand silent in the wind, not a word being uttered in defiance or despair and follow the trail of destruction to its end. Luck be with you on this journey for you shall surely need it"
Moving his body upwards as slowly as he sat down, his boney plae fingers holding onto the pomeel of his sword the last posesion lft to him in this world, the end of a worthless life is soon to be at hand. Dragging himself with an effort disepearing into the mass of crowds, as ou are unable to kepe track of him left on your own to discuss what to do next.

[Sivart]

name: Sivart Silverhand
race: Human
age: 17
skills: stealthy, ambidextrous, quick in movement and thought, charismatic (helps in a tight spot), pickpocketing, lockpicking, trained in assassination, potion/poison making, has a few slight spells to assist in give speed, increasing or decreasing the amount of light in an area, and a couple slightly mor complicated ones: one that fogs a person's senses and dulls their minds(not very effective on dwarves because of their strong will, not very effective on orcs because they're already dull); the other causes the affected party to feel euphoric, cheerful, and alltogether pleasant and selfless(doesn't effect dwarves for same reason, doesn't effect orcs becaus ethey are too cruel)
Proffesion: Thief
Worn/Wielded: Dirk with a crystalline blade that never needs to be sharpened, it's handle intricately carved with unknown runes and has a round onyx pommel stone that mysteriously lacks any luster. A copper sheath for the dirk is at his side, attached to a ratty leather belt. Also has many daggers hidden about his person of various sizes, each one sharp and with the initials S.S. etched on the base of their blades. Is wearing a supple, black leather jerkin underneath a cloak that looks like it was soaked in boiling pitch. Although light, it is surprisingly durable and has been magically enhanced to repair any and all rips, tears, and slashes it recieves. The jerkin is almost skin-tight, but seems to have been tailored so that it doesn't constrain any body movement. It also seems to have been reinforced in the upper chest area with a small plate of mithril; Not sufficient to completely stop an incoming sword but enough to deflect it in such a way to make cause what would be mortal wounds to be less severe. He's also wearing some light, leather boots, only instead of the usual hard soul they seem to be cushioned, allowing him to walk with significantly more stealth and more grace.
Gear: a rucksack with various stolen trinkets in it; flint with a tinderbox; various lockpicks and tools of the thieve's trade including many different types of oils, levers, and a garroting wire picked up from who knows where, a small pouch with various healing herbs and spices, a bone sewing needle, and an enchanted spool of black thread that never runs out
appearance: Here is a moderate 17 year old. He stand at around 5'6", with a mop of tousled, black hair, and thin eyebrows. His eyes are a cold blue, almost piercing, and his face seems to be frozen into a sort of half smile, which only grows when he gets more irritated or upset. His shoulders are slightly broad, but he isn't muscular. His wiry frame is slight, but he is swift,and able to dodge out of the way of many dangerous situations with grace. His deft fingers are slightly long, and seem to be constantly moving.
history: Once a young country lad, living in a small village out in the country side tending livestock, his family and nearly all the villagers were slaughtered by a band of orcs out prowling looking for sport. Sivart and every remaining survivor ended up turning to the larger cities to protection, where they'd heard that they'd be proteted and would have a new chance at life. At the age of seven, he was astounded by the sites he saw. Large buildings that were made more of wood than straw and mud, towering battlemantes and beautiful arches. All these wonderful things he saw, but he also saw more than he had hoped. He saw that people in the cities didn't care about each other. They had no respect for those below them, and because of that, he became cold. Joining up with one of the local gangs up young boys who made their living off theft and lawlessness, Sivart became an adept thief. At the age of 14 he realized found that there wasn't enough in just one town for him, so he set of and explored the alleyways of every city he came across, picking up many interesting trinkets and skills along the way, and even learning some spells and potions to help him along the way. Now a young rogue with nothing to lose and all to gain, he's out to get what riches he can, how he can, be it through honest work..or through unlawful fun.

[dragonsjem]

trained in assassination, potion/poison making Lose these and the char is approved Sivart and welcome to the forums and my thread.

[Sivart]

Sivart slowly walkes down the street, taking in the site of it, lightly jostling other people while filling up his purse, and trying to find a place to rest for a minute and get a drink. Eyeing a seemingly homely tavern, Sivart walks in and nearly throws himself out as a half-filled tankard of ale sours past his head. With a bit more caution and a slightly larger grin, he reenters the tavern and accidentally trips over one of the many drunkards sprawled on the floor, be it by drink or by another man, he doesn't know. Slowly standing and brushing himself off, along with a new dagger he collected from one of the brawlers, he carefully edges over to the bar at a slightly more quieter area, where it seems that an elf, a couple of dwarves, and a few other people are talking. Digging a gold piece out of his pouch, Sivart tosses it up onto the bar.
"Get me an ale...no, make that two, so i can wash this dust out of my throat." he says to the barman as he sits down, eyeing the coin pouch of the nearest man, dressed in the habit of a monk.
When his ale arrives, his quietly sidles up behind the man, seemingly intent on his ale, and listens quietly and leaning slightyl, hoping to hear some useful information which might earn him a decent coin.

[Maniacal_Intent]

MI glares at the strangers back as he leaves the table and walks off elsewhere.

"Bah, I could've sounded a blasted horn and still not be heard a few feet away.

Taking another long draught of ale, Intent swallows the vittles and casts another look round the table.

"Sounds like you lads are planning something nasty, do ya need another experienced axe perhaps?"

[flapjack]

Nibimacarion looks as the thief sits behind the monk and quietly warns him to the person that is staring slightly to much to his pouch: "You should be carefull, there is a certain person of uncertain allegiance sitting behind you, he appears to take great interest in your pouch."

only a few moments later a dwarf comes up and asks them if they would want him along on their quest, to which Nibimacarion responds: "another person to add to this group would always be of use, tough our journey is not 1 of evil, but rather 1 to remove a certain evil from this world, I believe you know full well which evil we would all rather see gone"

[Zappa Tenderlea]

Thungarth, growing bored of the stupidness and slowness of the so called heroes around him, stood up, and adressed the reddressed slowpoke

" I think he meant bloody, gory, and downright messy, when saying 'nasty'..."


now if you lot don't mind, I'd suggest renting a room, and talking about all of that omewhere private...

[Sivart]

Sivart drains his first pitcher of ale and slowly starts to edge away from the monk as he notices a nearby elf whisper to him and make none too subtle gestures back at him. While in mid-gulp on his second tankard, Sivart accidentally gulps down a swallow of ale in an undignified fashion when he hear's a mention in the strange groups conversation about adventure and eradicating some evil. Wiping his face clean, he slowly turns back to the bar, raises his tankard to drink some more, and slowly leans back a bit, enough to hear any more conversation but not enough to appear intrusive.

[vampire_lestat]

"well said, Thungarth."

*lestat looks at the person behind the bar*

"we will take a more private room, please, and see to it that we are not disturbed."

*lestat thows a gold coin across the bar and awaits directions to the room*

"Just go up the stairs and to the right" the bar worker says, eyeing the gold crown in their hand.

*lestat stands up and says, just loud enough for the group to hear

"those who would join this quest, follow me. If you would rather drown yourselfs in cheap ale, stay here."

*lestat stalks up the stairs slowly, hoping the band of adventurers will follow him.

[PyRo`]

Qualme stands up and glances out the corrner of his eye at the rest of the group who are sitting then lets out a faint sigh then reluctantly goes to catch up with the black clad stranger
"Though I am unsure if I share your intentions it apears we share the same path, let me join you on your quest for the time being, I believe we may be of some use to each other."
he says out loud as he catches up with the stranger...

[flapjack]

*Nibimacarion looks at the dwarf for a moment, the tought of how simple it would be to kill him right now appearing his mind for a moment before he dismishes it and heads up the stairs and towards the room that the dark guy just ordered, comtemplating on the already akward group of adventures that would probably be joining, a dwarf, a necromancer, an elf and possibly a monk*

"Privacy would indeed be good, it would certainly reduce the risk of having to chase someone's pouch or finding arrows flying through the room."

ooc/ lestat, my character is currently completely convinced you must be a necromancer, as he doesn't know much about vampires and the little he does know makes it that he dismisses everyone that walks into a bar in broad daylight as a vampire /ooc

[Bakan]

THEN

*Flames crackle everywhere, the smoke blotting out the sun, making what was originally a beautiful day a day that could be straight from the depths of hell. Villagers screamed, running around. Women holding children begged for their childrens lives, only to be torn apart. Yet, in this scene of chaos a figure walks, clad in a large cloak, with the hood over its face.*

*A women, her soot covered face streaked with tears or terror runs into the figure. Collapsing into him, she screams at him, the one figure that seems untouched by the chaos. Whimpering nonsense, she barely notices the figures hand reach out to gently wrap around her throat. Then with sudden violence, she is lifted full up, so her feet dangle over the ground. Razor sharp claws, barely noticable start to draw blood as the slowely extend into her neck. As the blood drips down, the women looks under the hood of the cloak, only to see deep dark blackness. As her eyes widen even more and she takes another breath to scream, with inhuman speed the arm is yanked back, without her following. Falling to the ground, the women grabs the shattered remains of her neck, as the ripped arteries desperatly try to send blood to her brain, her torn windpipe making odd hissing sounds as it sucks air directly into the lungs and exhales. As blood streams from her mouth, and in even greater quantities her ruined neck, the figure turns slowely, as not to get blood on him and walks away as the women falls facedown, blood pooling around her as she slowely dies.*

*Looking over, one of the villagers screams a name and rushes to the women. Kneeling besides her, he gently pushes asides strands of dark hair from her face, before looking at the figure watching the other five buthers, each walking through the village with deadly grace. Standing up, the man once known as Incom Morgan, pulled out a sword marked with a flaming star emblam. His long gray hair falling around his shoulders, he gripped the sword that was awarded to him many long years ago for saving the life of his king when he once was a soldier. The sword, marked thus was only given to the best of the best, those who's skill was unrivaled. Even though it was a long time ago, Incom still praticed occasionaly, if only to stay in shape now that he was a farmer. But now, standing over the body of his only child, his lovely daughter, he felt both his age and like a young man all at once.*

*Knowing better than to scream, he rushed the murder of his beloved Laura, sword raised in the first position of Dancing with Fire position, a position designed to quickly end a battle with a deadly foe. Closing within striking range, he stabbed out, only to see his target's back flew, grow then shred the cloak, revealing twin dragon-like wings. They spun out, knocking the sword aside and knocking Incom to the ground. Pushing himself back and up, Incom watching his opponent, who's outer cloak was now shredded, but still have a cowl covering his face, pulling out a Heavy Broadsword from it's holster between it's wings. Watching, Incom notices that his sword is covered with a thin trickle of blood. Squinting slightly, he sees a handful of drops fall from the monsters wing that deflected his sword. Smiling, he remember a old lesson taught long ago by one of his masters, who's whjte hair reflected his wisdom and experiance.*

"You may face many dangers, but remember one thing. If it bleeds, it can die.

*Twirling his sword, Incom leaps at the monster, knowing that while a broadsword is extremely deadly at offence and defence, it's weight made it a impratical weapon for the amount of time and strength needed to easily move it, whereas his blade was much smaller, thus allowing him to strike more quickly and rapidly. Leaping and strikeing with the Dance of Fallen Angels motions, Incom's eyes widened as the figure moved his broadsword like a much lighter weapon, with one hand no less. Every single one of his blows was deflected, yet for the ease the monster was displaying it made no offensive strikes.*

*Dance of Fallen Angels smoothly slide to Fireweavers Dance, with a sudden sharp transition to Slaughter of Demons style, which was once smooth parying strikes suddently changing into vicious blows and stabs, aimed at dismemberment and vivisection. Yet for all his moves and experiance, Incom's might have been a child. Pulling back, Incom tried to catch his breath, feeling sweat dripping from him, his joints stiffing up, and his vision blurring. Calling upon his long years of knowledge, he remembered the final lesson taught to him.*

There will come a time, when one will have to use the Sheathing of the Sword. It is only used once for good reason, yet in desperate times, this may be the line between victory and defeat.

*Gripping his sword with both hands, feeling the flaming star mark on the hilt, Incom smiles and spits at the monsters feet.*

"Have at thee."

*Rushing forward, he swings a mightly blow aim to tear the creatures hidden head from it's shoulders, only for it to be caught on the monsters broadsword blade. Their two blades slide till they were hilt top hilt, with Incom glaring into the swirling darkness that existed under the hood of the monsters cloak. Headbutting it, Incom screamed as he felt his flesh tear. Pulling out, he blinked rapidly, only sensing one eye was blinking, with his field of vision reduced considerbly on his left side, before the wave of pain hit. Falling to his knees, he reaches with a shaking hand to the left side of his face, only to feel torn skin, blood, bone, muscle and a empty socket where his left eye was.*

*Hearing footsteps approach, he turns to see the monster step towards him, the broadsword still held in one hand, slowely raising for a finishing blow. Knowing that his time had run out, Incom kicked out against the monsters kneecap, feeling his own foot flare in pain as muscles tear from the force of the blow, but it is enough to pause the monster as Incom leaps up, feeling oddly enough more alive than before. Spinning as if he was to strike at the monsters head, he stops in mid-spin with his back to the monster, and shoves his own sword through his stomach while jumping backwards into the monster.*

*The pain was indescribable as Incom screamed as his own blade tore out his back, and met resistance. Looking down to see that it was buried to the hilt, Incom knew that with the length of his blade it must be in the monsters chest also. Feeling his legs grow cold, Incom let them go, only to be still standing. Blinking past the tears, he turns his head slightly, only to see the blackness of the monster. Feeling pressure, he gasped as another wave of pain hit and he fell to the ground while feeling his sword before torn out of his hands. Clutching the gaping hole in his chest, he turned to see the monster holding his sword, by the blade. A small trickle of blood dripped from the sword where the monster gripped it as it opened it's hand, letting the sword fall.*

*Watching it, time seemed to slow to Incom as it slowely spun and struck the ground. Looking at the monster, Incom watches as it stares at it's hand, the small cut impossibly fading away. Flexing the hand, Incom notices it's coloring, oddly red tinted, with a hint of what appeared to be scales. Still holding it's broadsword, the figure approached again, this time reaching with it's freshly healed hand to it's hood, and pulled out down. Gasping, Incom stared as he looked at the face of the monster. Yellow eyes stared back, with a top of black hair falling to a tied-off ponytail, with the flesh itself scaly, with sections spiking out, several spikes colored a even darker red of Incom's blood. Realizing in his last moments the monster was doing him a honor, Incom tried to spit, but failed as with inhuman speed, he saw the broadsword swing, felt a sudden prick of pain at his neck, and saw a white light, with was appeared to be his wife and daughter, one long dead, one freshly dead, extending their arms to him.*

*Watching the head of the old villager bounce on the ground, Bakan slowely raised his hood back over his face, hiding it from the world. The battle, while short and far to easy, provided a small distraction, yet the villager showed skill that indicated a past of battles, thus unlike the rest of the villagers, he deserved a honorable death. Looking over, Bakan sees a family run screaming from one of his companions, not realizing that they were rushing towards him. With a vicious swing, one of the children runs forward a few steps....... before his upper torso falls off his lower torso, vital organs spilling out of the two sections as the child screams in pain before fainting from shock, and dying within seconds after that.*

*The other children scream, with the adult, a girl barely past her teens vomiting on the ground. As they rushed past, Bakan waved his left hand. The gauntlet of of flame on that arm glowed, and several strands of fire streaked out as Bakan cast his fire arrow spell. The arrows flew straight and true, each one burning though the kneecaps of the fleeing villages. As they fall to the ground screaming, clutching the holes where their knees previously were, Bakan sends a mental command to his companions, letting them have fun. As two of them leap upon the helpless villagers, Bakan turns away to see two obvious farmers rush him with pitchforks. Slashing out, Bakan slices the ample belly of one, letting intestines and fats pour from the wound. The other farmer, not seeing or caring about the fate of his partner, keeps rushing. Smiling to himself, Bakan reaches out with two fingers, which started to extender even more fully as Bakan allowed himself to change even further into dragon form. The claws became more define, only for two of them to run into the eyeballs of the villager, tearing through them into the farmer's brain. Twiching his fingers, Bakan pulls them out, letting the farmer fall to the ground. Before the body hits the ground, Bakan turns as the jewel, if it could be seen around his neck pulsed as his master sent him a message. Sending a message in return, Bakan walked back into the fray.*

NOW

*Entering Lady Dragongem's chambers, Bakan bows to one knees. Seeing her wave at him to stand, he gracefully rises, and sets down on a nearby table the jead of Incom Morgan, the expresion frozen in one of anger and defiance.*

"The villagers were weak, though this was one was a exception. He was worthy of a honorable death."

*Leave the head, Bakan takes two steps forward and stands at attention.*

"What are you next orders my master."

[vampire_lestat]

/ooc/ seem to recall heron-mark blades and sheathing the sword from the wheel of time .\ooc\