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PostPosted: Tue Jan 28, 2014 1:36 pm 
Caenyr Land Owner
Caenyr Land Owner
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Joined: Thu May 13, 2010 6:32 am
Posts: 479
Location: In my own private padded cell.
GSID: TheVoices_WoC
Gamespy ID: TheVoices_WoC

Character Name: Atheron Rae’nel

Gender: Male

Race: Half-Demon(Demon parent unknown type, may be revealed later through rp)

Age: 54(appears early to mid twenties)

Class: Cleric

Domain: Master of Battle

Alignment: Chaotic Neutral

Deity: Raekhan


Description: Standing 6’5”(196cm) tall with a lean muscular figure, carrying himself with confidence. This appearance of strength is however tainted by a bad limp that he seems to carry in his right leg when he walks. However when he runs, whether by tolerance of the pain or shear force of will he runs normally as if unhindered by it. Yet after running for a while and returning to a walk his limp can be seen to visibly worsen for a short time.

His skin is tanned with typical signs of weathering you see on those who spend much time outside, for whatever reason. Crimson hair cascades from atop his head and pale white eyes sit within a roughly hewn handsome face. The pale white of his eyes covers their entirety, making it seem as though he were blind, yet his movement and manner are not those of a blind man; in fact the way his eyes seem to peer through you give you precisely the opposite feeling. Like a man attempting to peer into the very soul of those his gaze falls upon.


Bio:

The scavenger moved through the carnage, stopping here and there to pick up a trinket or two. The battle had been brutal and the survivors had yet to return to tend the fallen. Why it caught his eye, he couldn’t say, perhaps because seeing a book there on the battlefield was such an oddity but he stooped to pick up the leather-bound tome. As he flicked through the pages it was immediately apparent that it was a journal of some description, but something unusual struck him about it. From the outside he’d have thought it had maybe at most one hundred pages, but as he flicked through it there were clearly far more pages than there appeared to be. Magic, he thought to himself, it had to be. The man slid the journal into his bag and continued on to pick the valuables from the dead, he’d read the journal later.


Later that night


As he opened the cover to the book his eyes scanned across the binding and first page or two, there was no sign of a name or anyway to identify to whom it belonged. When the writing began it was clearly that of a child, though one with surprisingly neat hand writing.

Mother says I should keep a journal, that it will help me to organise my thoughts and feelings. To focus better. I’m not sure though, she keeps telling me we serve change and chaos but also tells me I should be more controlled... the voice tells me to listen but I don’t know. I’ll try it for a bit and see.

His fingers idly finger through a few more pages before stopping to read again.

Chaos is life, that is what mother says. The teachers say that life is order. Which is right? The voice is unsure, it says both have merit; all the use that was. Mother says to trust my feelings, my feelings tell me mother is right. Change is natural and change is chaos, yes, that’s right. But mother also says I must pay attention to my teachers, learn all that I can, she says that it will help me to inflict greater change in the future. I do like that idea, but it’s so boring. I suppose I must.

The man turns his head towards the door, hearing noise and ruckus coming from the tavern downstairs but given the nature of this place it wasn’t surprising so he turned back to the book. He flicked through a few dozen more pages before stopping at an entry that had even neater hand writing, clearly the one who wrote it was older.

I got into a fight today... Samuel again, he and I were debating chaos and change versus order and stability. He claimed they were the cornerstones of civilization but I pointed out that without change his precious civilization would have never even started. Then he started by mocking my appearance as he always does... so predictable. But then he mentioned mother and... father, the things he said about my father and then called my mother a whore. Was it true? What he said? The voice then prompted me with things to respond with, about his own mother, it was all I could do to keep from laughing and he hit me. I didn’t start the fight... but I finished it. Unfortunately they said he’d survive his injuries, be back in school in a month or two, pity.

He turned a single page to continue with the very next entry.

It was true! Samuel was right! Mother didn’t even try to deny it, father was a demon in human form. She didn’t know which... I... don’t know how to react. She said it was deliberate, that demons are beings of pure chaos, not the same chaos which we serve like Lady Arynaesis. But she hoped the chaotic blood would help make me stronger when mixed with her own, that I could change the threads of fate in ways she’d never have the time or strength to do. The voice said it was wonderful, I could hear the dancing glee in its words as they rattled around inside my head. I suppose I’m still the same person now as I was before I knew... my thoughts, feelings and beliefs are still the same... I don’t know.

The scavenger let out a low whistle at the revelation as he skimmed forward, picking out odd passages and sentences occasionally pausing to look over his shoulder at the noise from downstairs. When he finally stopped to read properly, the writing was even more sophisticated, the kind you would usually expect from a court scribe and near as he could tell the author must have by now be just reaching adulthood.

Mother is ill, the healers say she should make a full recovery but there is something in her eyes. She holds something back from them, I don’t think the illness is as straightforward as they believe it is. I’m sure the powers the Goddess bestows could restore her, yet my healing spells don’t seem much more effective than the town healer; there is something she isn’t telling me. Mother is resigned to her fate, but I can’t accept it, I must be able to change it yet she claims I can’t. She shows no regret at her death, only regret in that she fears I may not be ready to walk the path she has raised me on alone. By Arynaesis, she will be proud, I will bring the change she dreamt of.

Once again he glanced towards the door, the scuffling and shouting seemed even closer, it was a very rowdy night tonight. He skimmed onwards through the neatly scrawled script, as it described adventures and schemes, the man quickly realised that the author of the book had made it his lives work to change the fates of as many people as possible. Saving those who would have died without his intervention, killing some who should have been untouchable and disrupting the order wherever he would find it. Suddenly, abruptly the writing become messy and barely legible making him squint to read it.

It... it can’t be... She’s dead. The void that twists and turns inside me, the ravaging maw of the unseen beast threatens to swallow me whole... She is gone. I know it to be true, but I can’t accept it... She’s not the only one, people tell me, others have died. But not Her... it can’t be Her. Arynaesis... please. She will never truly be gone, chaos lives, so long as I live She will never be gone, change is constant, chaos is eternal... but... so empty now...

The next several paragraphs are indecipherable so he turns the page to where the writing begins to make sense again.

Chaos has moved. He has taken it for His own. Why Him? Why did it have to be Him? But I must serve it, chaos must continue, the voice agrees and tells me that He is different. Not as He was... but... He is not Her... Is this what I must do? To serve chaos I must serve the Lizard?

The loud bang echoes from the landing this time, the man shrugs and returns to the journal.

The voice insisted, I touched with Him today... it was... different. She, true Chaos, was like the dancing flame, elegant and beautiful but able to burn when released. He, the Chaos of the whirling storm. Cold as the night, overwhelming as the blizzard and torrential as the hurricane. How can I bare it? But I must, the voice insists and it is correct. My beliefs are unaltered, my thoughts and feelings unchanged. The new Lord of Chaos will have my loyalty, He will have my service but He will never have my true devotion. She is Chaos, so long as I endure She will never be truly gone. But He is my Lord now. So shall it be.

The scavenger flicked onwards, skimming the pages. The author had resumed his life as a priest, his actions from then were much the same as they had been before. An instrument of chaos and change, the same determination, the same intent and the same unfettered will but something in the writing was different. The passion was less forthcoming, though the zeal with which he pursued it suggested it was still there, it was now layered beneath the surface of the writing, as if covered in a layer of frost. The man dropped back onto the bed, the noise outside had finally stopped, until there came a knock at the door.

”Go away”, the knock came again, louder and more insistent. With a sigh the man rolled from the bed and moved to open the door brandishing a dagger.

As the door opened a figure stood there, towering over him, an armoured figure with a long cloak drawn about his shoulders and a tower shield on his left arm. Blood splattered across the otherwise gleaming metal plates, beneath the hood he could just about make out a pair of pale white eyes looking at him.

”I believe you have something that belongs to me.”, the hooded figure looks towards the journal on the man’s bed. The scavenger meanwhile had looked behind the towering figure, three men were on the landing, or at least what was left of them. One man had been pushed head first through a solid wall so that only his legs could be seen. Another was impaled against the very same wall which itself had partially crumbled with the force of the blow, what appeared to be a table leg protruding from his chest. And the third, well the third was lying directly behind the armoured figure and appeared to be lacking a head as the blood pool trailed its way towards the doorway; where the head had gone the scavenger could only guess. Atheron’s hand slowly extended, to await placement of the book. For a moment the man considered fighting, seeing as the armoured figure had sheathed his sword. As if sensing this Atheron spoke again.

”The fates of bouncers, and many of the patrons have been altered today from that they might otherwise have been. They stood between me and what I desired, refusing to let me pass upstairs unhindered. If you choose to do the same, then I will change your fate just as I changed theirs. I have no quarrel with you, you did as you will, but that book is mine and you will not keep me from it.”, the man swallowed before sliding away his dagger and retrieving the book from the bed to place it in the hand of the larger man.

With a nod he turned and limped away down the landing towards the stairs. By the time the town militia arrived the large armoured figure was gone and the tavern that had once been a hive of criminal and violent activity was completely deserted save the two dozen or so dead bodies. Without the criminals in this place to pray on them, the fate of the area had been shifted; though others would eventually fill the void the town for now chaos had granted this town peace.

_________________
Atheron Rae'nel
You must have chaos within you to give birth to a dancing star.

Degarn Broadaxe
Here is the price of freedom:
Your every drop of courage, ounce of pain, pint of blood.
Paid, in advance.



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 Post subject: Re: Atheron Rae'nel
PostPosted: Thu Jan 30, 2014 7:21 pm 
Caenyr Land Owner
Caenyr Land Owner
User avatar

Joined: Thu May 13, 2010 6:32 am
Posts: 479
Location: In my own private padded cell.
GSID: TheVoices_WoC
Atheron arrives in the famous city of Chail-Anden and after a few days records his initial thoughts within his journal.

_________________
Atheron Rae'nel
You must have chaos within you to give birth to a dancing star.

Degarn Broadaxe
Here is the price of freedom:
Your every drop of courage, ounce of pain, pint of blood.
Paid, in advance.



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