Tanaara
20-01-2009, 20:53
PLEASE NOTE:
This is semi closed, please tg for an invitation. Fatal Terrain Members are unconditionally accepted
The final assault came at exactly midnight. It came not from the sky but the ground. A humanoid figure, standing a solid eight foot six, covered from head to toe in a dark black cloak. There were no hands from the end of the sleeves, instead five long tendrils in place of fingers. Upon close examination, one would see the tendrils were actually a variety of snakes, each one acting as a different finger.
A hard wind, an unnatural wind, blew the cloak open, revealing no flesh, but exposed bone, with chunks of muscle hanging from the bone. A spine connected somewhere to the upper skull, but it had no lower jaw. Flesh, dark, cold, and grey, covered the skull, but no eyes were visible. Instead, a cold, dark green flame, tipped purple flickered from each socket. The cloak rolled back around the figure.
Behind it came a equine figure, equally looking of nothing more than bone and exposed muscle. What little flesh covered it was a dark, dirty green, and each time it snorted, flames flared out from its nostrils.
The rider climbed the mount, surveying the hell on earth that at one time had been the High Republic of Imitora. No more. The horse reared up, and as it came back down, more small shock waves flared from its hooves.
It spoke, or, more or less emmited words, with each a similar green and purple flame flaring from where its lower jaw would be.
And his name, that sat on him, was Death. And Hell followed with him.
The hose reared up, but did not snort. From the mouth of the horse came an ear piercing screech, audible as far away as Montgaurd. When the hooves came back to the ground, the island cracked, clear from north coast to south coast, deep to the base of the earth.
The land began to tip, the two halves sinking in slowly from the inside out. By noon on Saturday, the eastern and western most coasts now stood a clean ten miles in the air, slanting in sharply towards what had once been the center of island. The air stunk of sulfur, and the sky still burned a deep red. The swirling cloud had done nothing to recess, and was still pouring forth demons of all sorts.
The entire population of Imitora was dead. A few souls had escaped to other lands, but those numbered in the tens, and there was no intention on returning to reclaim the land. Demons roamed the fall out, the ruins of once great cities, killing any survivors they found. There would be no resistance, no push to force the beasts out.
At the center of it all was the horseman, armed with a wicked looking sword that promised death to anyone it touched.
Arklay had served its purpose well, finding a way to easily access other worlds and dimensions. What it had done, though, was to unleash those other worlds upon Imitora.
Imitora is no more but we remain.
And remember.
Oh nuts to that! I refuse to acknowledge him as The Man. He isn’t our Man. I should know - I’m The Man's scion and heir, an Avatar in Training. And I resent, on my Dread Sire’s behalf, the intrusion of this pretender and his malevolent actions. Death comes to all when it is their time, which is not necessarily when those visited wish, or require, or demand it be, but that doesn’t influence Death. He comes when it is time.
And for the millions of Imitora it wasn’t time.
And His prerogatives have been interrupted, usurped by this interloper. An arrogant interloper who remains here still, and by his very presence violates the natural rhythms of this Universe. The disruptions wrought by his presence will soon rupture the protective barrier and spill over into Fatal Terrain. Then further into the rest of the Universe.
And so I intend to stop him. Though I am my Father's Daughter and Heir - a power in my own right, I alone am not sufficient to enact the deed. Fortunately I do not need to attempt this alone.
And as it has ever been said, necessity breeds strange bedfellows. Ah, not that I intend to bed any of them. I am perfectly pleased with the one who shares my heart and life.
But I have to chuckle at the irony that brings ancient enemies together…
But first let me introduce myself…
What can one say about a character one has played for over twenty five years? I started her out as an adventure seeker, a thrill seeker as her mother had been. However I soon realized, as she came to life, that she was far more intense than that, and was indeed, very truly, her Father's daughter.
I see her in the moonlight, with a blade clutched in her hand,
And she fights in every battle, just like any man.
But she dances in the darkness and she heals the wounded men,
And I know I'll stand beside her, until the bitter end.
She's a singer in the shadow and the shadow is death.
She stands between each man and fate and her life is our breath.
I stretch out along the parapet of the roof, the rifle sights dropping smoothly upon my intended target. Hold the breath, let the trigger pull befome as a faint surprize, and the round sings it's deadly song as the target falls in an explosion of blood. I don't bother to watch further, as I stand, pick up the spent brass and with out rush break down the rifle storing it back in it's hard case. I stretch as I stand and then pick up the case.
I STEP and the world is gone.
She's a mistress of magic and she knows her magic well.
She can keep a comrade in this life or send his soul to hell.
But she weeps for every good man lost, then picks up her shield again,
To come and march beside us, until the bitter end.
She's a singer in the shadow and the shadow is death.
She stands between each man and fate and her life is our breath
Then I am in the quiet library with it's collection of medical journals and mystery thrillers. I am comfortable in this place, having spent countless hours here since my mother left me to be raised by the man I eventually inherited the sprawing mansion from. He wasn't my father, simply the only person that my mother trusted with the complete truth. He was good to me, tried to be the father most thought I've never had. He urged me to have an interest in the healing arts, to be come a physician, and I did. A damn good one too I might add. Until the day a strung out junkie tried to kill a pregnant woman. I interviened and was killed for my trouble.
But her soul is caught in torment, lost between two worlds is she;
The dream of life, the touch of death, will never set her free.
Only I have seen her torment, know how staunchly she defends,
And I'll love her with my heart and soul, until the bitter end.
She's a singer in the shadow and the shadow is death.
She stands between each man and fate and her life is our breath.
But I'd always known that my real father was out there watching over me. He was and I didn't die, though the world though I had. No, he came to me, told me the truth, and taught me the powers innate with in me. And so I became a hunter, a killer, a taker of life, and his Heir.
Rather an odd dichotomy, one might say. And I say maybe for you, but not for me, seeing as I'm going to inherit my Fathers job one day...
Until then I heal or kill as the need is, trying to keep the balance as best I can...
But you see most people don't understand Death. They have been conditioned to think of Death as evil, fearsome, hateful, and wrong. But they are the ones incorrect.
Death loves all of those who chose to visit mortality. He is their guide home; the one who aids in the return to the Whole, the greater unity that they separated from to come here, to the Realms where they are both lesser and greater than they once were. Death is the one who takes the burdens that they leave behind, who shoulders the cares and worries they shed like a snake shedding it's old skin for the new. And Death is strong enough to take all of these with out hesitation, without stint...
and the one who is Death, the one who will be Death, they must be cut from a different cloth than any other.
J'age (http://www.atddm.com/jage1.htm)
Ht: 6'0"
Wt: 150 #
Hair: Iridescent, black beyond black; glossy tresses that tumble deep natural wave to about hip length – mostly she wears it pulled back in a thick French Braid.
Eyes: Like ice a fire, an ethereal ‘hottest flame’ blue
Skin / Complexion: whiter than even albino, finely textured, no moles or scars, flawless.
She is tall, and slender -- she is stronger than she looks, muscled like a gymnast or ballerina yet feminine, elegant in face and form. She moves like a great cat, her power whisper quiet, like her soundless footfalls. The observant note that she casts no shadow, and does not breathe.
my mothers tale...
"I've loved Death all my life, seen Him waiting for me in my dreams...." an inpatient gesture...
"Oh, please stop with the arm chair shrink wank. I don't care if you don't believe me, but I have been able to see Him, watch Him going about His job, ...yes job. Though it probably doen't fall into what you'd consider a job, it is, for Him, it's just that, I can tell." a shrug as if the opinion voiced is of no consequence. "And no my dreams weren't morbid, of blood soaked, or dark and depressing. We held long conversations he and I. And over the years I fell in love with him."
The silence is long this time, satisfying..."That shut you up didn't it? And he to love me, how could he not as time and again I sought him out." Anger, a red hot spike. A hard shake of the head. "What?! suicide? You know damn well I've never tried suicide, or even thought of it. No, my attempts to join him were the most life affirming I could find." Calmer now, a fond reminiscing smile lightening eyes. "Yes, the jumping off of bridges with tiny parachutes, driving top fuel dragsters, free climbing the most difficult verticles I could find. Evey extrememe sport out there, I mastered them and flirted with the one I love."
"Untill I died and Death could not bear to take me just yet so Death took a holiday." A snort of veiled half contempt.
"Now your eyes fly wide as you think about that strange two weeks all those years ago. The two weeks where no one died, no matter that they should have. He was on vacation, loving me, us being together in a way that would never be possibly again." Sadness now and resignation. "And Death didn't take me in the end, He couldn't. I cried myself ill, but He wouldn't, couldn't for by then I carrried His daughter. Yes the sunny faced little girl playing with your minature horses out in the summer sun is Death's daughter."
But joy blooming incandescent. "And now that she's old enough He's come for me, so good by Doctor, raise her well..."
OOC:Music- Singer in the Shadow - author unknown - though I am given to understand that it is about the patroness of the Company of the Black Rose...
[/quote]
This is semi closed, please tg for an invitation. Fatal Terrain Members are unconditionally accepted
The final assault came at exactly midnight. It came not from the sky but the ground. A humanoid figure, standing a solid eight foot six, covered from head to toe in a dark black cloak. There were no hands from the end of the sleeves, instead five long tendrils in place of fingers. Upon close examination, one would see the tendrils were actually a variety of snakes, each one acting as a different finger.
A hard wind, an unnatural wind, blew the cloak open, revealing no flesh, but exposed bone, with chunks of muscle hanging from the bone. A spine connected somewhere to the upper skull, but it had no lower jaw. Flesh, dark, cold, and grey, covered the skull, but no eyes were visible. Instead, a cold, dark green flame, tipped purple flickered from each socket. The cloak rolled back around the figure.
Behind it came a equine figure, equally looking of nothing more than bone and exposed muscle. What little flesh covered it was a dark, dirty green, and each time it snorted, flames flared out from its nostrils.
The rider climbed the mount, surveying the hell on earth that at one time had been the High Republic of Imitora. No more. The horse reared up, and as it came back down, more small shock waves flared from its hooves.
It spoke, or, more or less emmited words, with each a similar green and purple flame flaring from where its lower jaw would be.
And his name, that sat on him, was Death. And Hell followed with him.
The hose reared up, but did not snort. From the mouth of the horse came an ear piercing screech, audible as far away as Montgaurd. When the hooves came back to the ground, the island cracked, clear from north coast to south coast, deep to the base of the earth.
The land began to tip, the two halves sinking in slowly from the inside out. By noon on Saturday, the eastern and western most coasts now stood a clean ten miles in the air, slanting in sharply towards what had once been the center of island. The air stunk of sulfur, and the sky still burned a deep red. The swirling cloud had done nothing to recess, and was still pouring forth demons of all sorts.
The entire population of Imitora was dead. A few souls had escaped to other lands, but those numbered in the tens, and there was no intention on returning to reclaim the land. Demons roamed the fall out, the ruins of once great cities, killing any survivors they found. There would be no resistance, no push to force the beasts out.
At the center of it all was the horseman, armed with a wicked looking sword that promised death to anyone it touched.
Arklay had served its purpose well, finding a way to easily access other worlds and dimensions. What it had done, though, was to unleash those other worlds upon Imitora.
Imitora is no more but we remain.
And remember.
Oh nuts to that! I refuse to acknowledge him as The Man. He isn’t our Man. I should know - I’m The Man's scion and heir, an Avatar in Training. And I resent, on my Dread Sire’s behalf, the intrusion of this pretender and his malevolent actions. Death comes to all when it is their time, which is not necessarily when those visited wish, or require, or demand it be, but that doesn’t influence Death. He comes when it is time.
And for the millions of Imitora it wasn’t time.
And His prerogatives have been interrupted, usurped by this interloper. An arrogant interloper who remains here still, and by his very presence violates the natural rhythms of this Universe. The disruptions wrought by his presence will soon rupture the protective barrier and spill over into Fatal Terrain. Then further into the rest of the Universe.
And so I intend to stop him. Though I am my Father's Daughter and Heir - a power in my own right, I alone am not sufficient to enact the deed. Fortunately I do not need to attempt this alone.
And as it has ever been said, necessity breeds strange bedfellows. Ah, not that I intend to bed any of them. I am perfectly pleased with the one who shares my heart and life.
But I have to chuckle at the irony that brings ancient enemies together…
But first let me introduce myself…
What can one say about a character one has played for over twenty five years? I started her out as an adventure seeker, a thrill seeker as her mother had been. However I soon realized, as she came to life, that she was far more intense than that, and was indeed, very truly, her Father's daughter.
I see her in the moonlight, with a blade clutched in her hand,
And she fights in every battle, just like any man.
But she dances in the darkness and she heals the wounded men,
And I know I'll stand beside her, until the bitter end.
She's a singer in the shadow and the shadow is death.
She stands between each man and fate and her life is our breath.
I stretch out along the parapet of the roof, the rifle sights dropping smoothly upon my intended target. Hold the breath, let the trigger pull befome as a faint surprize, and the round sings it's deadly song as the target falls in an explosion of blood. I don't bother to watch further, as I stand, pick up the spent brass and with out rush break down the rifle storing it back in it's hard case. I stretch as I stand and then pick up the case.
I STEP and the world is gone.
She's a mistress of magic and she knows her magic well.
She can keep a comrade in this life or send his soul to hell.
But she weeps for every good man lost, then picks up her shield again,
To come and march beside us, until the bitter end.
She's a singer in the shadow and the shadow is death.
She stands between each man and fate and her life is our breath
Then I am in the quiet library with it's collection of medical journals and mystery thrillers. I am comfortable in this place, having spent countless hours here since my mother left me to be raised by the man I eventually inherited the sprawing mansion from. He wasn't my father, simply the only person that my mother trusted with the complete truth. He was good to me, tried to be the father most thought I've never had. He urged me to have an interest in the healing arts, to be come a physician, and I did. A damn good one too I might add. Until the day a strung out junkie tried to kill a pregnant woman. I interviened and was killed for my trouble.
But her soul is caught in torment, lost between two worlds is she;
The dream of life, the touch of death, will never set her free.
Only I have seen her torment, know how staunchly she defends,
And I'll love her with my heart and soul, until the bitter end.
She's a singer in the shadow and the shadow is death.
She stands between each man and fate and her life is our breath.
But I'd always known that my real father was out there watching over me. He was and I didn't die, though the world though I had. No, he came to me, told me the truth, and taught me the powers innate with in me. And so I became a hunter, a killer, a taker of life, and his Heir.
Rather an odd dichotomy, one might say. And I say maybe for you, but not for me, seeing as I'm going to inherit my Fathers job one day...
Until then I heal or kill as the need is, trying to keep the balance as best I can...
But you see most people don't understand Death. They have been conditioned to think of Death as evil, fearsome, hateful, and wrong. But they are the ones incorrect.
Death loves all of those who chose to visit mortality. He is their guide home; the one who aids in the return to the Whole, the greater unity that they separated from to come here, to the Realms where they are both lesser and greater than they once were. Death is the one who takes the burdens that they leave behind, who shoulders the cares and worries they shed like a snake shedding it's old skin for the new. And Death is strong enough to take all of these with out hesitation, without stint...
and the one who is Death, the one who will be Death, they must be cut from a different cloth than any other.
J'age (http://www.atddm.com/jage1.htm)
Ht: 6'0"
Wt: 150 #
Hair: Iridescent, black beyond black; glossy tresses that tumble deep natural wave to about hip length – mostly she wears it pulled back in a thick French Braid.
Eyes: Like ice a fire, an ethereal ‘hottest flame’ blue
Skin / Complexion: whiter than even albino, finely textured, no moles or scars, flawless.
She is tall, and slender -- she is stronger than she looks, muscled like a gymnast or ballerina yet feminine, elegant in face and form. She moves like a great cat, her power whisper quiet, like her soundless footfalls. The observant note that she casts no shadow, and does not breathe.
my mothers tale...
"I've loved Death all my life, seen Him waiting for me in my dreams...." an inpatient gesture...
"Oh, please stop with the arm chair shrink wank. I don't care if you don't believe me, but I have been able to see Him, watch Him going about His job, ...yes job. Though it probably doen't fall into what you'd consider a job, it is, for Him, it's just that, I can tell." a shrug as if the opinion voiced is of no consequence. "And no my dreams weren't morbid, of blood soaked, or dark and depressing. We held long conversations he and I. And over the years I fell in love with him."
The silence is long this time, satisfying..."That shut you up didn't it? And he to love me, how could he not as time and again I sought him out." Anger, a red hot spike. A hard shake of the head. "What?! suicide? You know damn well I've never tried suicide, or even thought of it. No, my attempts to join him were the most life affirming I could find." Calmer now, a fond reminiscing smile lightening eyes. "Yes, the jumping off of bridges with tiny parachutes, driving top fuel dragsters, free climbing the most difficult verticles I could find. Evey extrememe sport out there, I mastered them and flirted with the one I love."
"Untill I died and Death could not bear to take me just yet so Death took a holiday." A snort of veiled half contempt.
"Now your eyes fly wide as you think about that strange two weeks all those years ago. The two weeks where no one died, no matter that they should have. He was on vacation, loving me, us being together in a way that would never be possibly again." Sadness now and resignation. "And Death didn't take me in the end, He couldn't. I cried myself ill, but He wouldn't, couldn't for by then I carrried His daughter. Yes the sunny faced little girl playing with your minature horses out in the summer sun is Death's daughter."
But joy blooming incandescent. "And now that she's old enough He's come for me, so good by Doctor, raise her well..."
OOC:Music- Singer in the Shadow - author unknown - though I am given to understand that it is about the patroness of the Company of the Black Rose...
[/quote]