Description
You fix your gaze upon the avian before you. Small charcoal black
feathers cover his head and face, growing larger and thicker as they
extend down his neck and shoulders. A sharp ivory beak contrasts sharply
against the dark visage accented on either side by blazing yellow eyes.
His head appears to be smoothly rounded, framed on either side by dark
spires supporting graceful wings. Feathered legs armored below the knee
with scales of faded crimson, clawed talons hanging slightly above the
ground. He has the look of both the hunter and the hunted, poised as if
to take action at any moment.
Role
The Cause
Added Tue May 10 19:48:21 2005 at level 21:
Baltorn was trained well as a youth on the ways of the royal guard for he is
descended from a family well known for its history in the palace guard ranks.
Thus it came as little surprise when he was one of but four from his year to be
given the honor to pledge their life to the service of the Emperor. He had won
more honor for his family, and all close to him were proud of his
accomplishments. All seemed well, but such would not endure forever.
Through the council of his advisors, the Emperor wished to conduct an
experiment with this year's new recruitment. The purpose was to determine how
magic would improve the performance of the palace guard, and thus the security
of the entire city. Baltorn was chosen as the control for the experiment,
something he is grateful for his every waking breath. The three cursed souls
chosen as test subjects were to spend the next 2 years in the normal training of
the newly admitted guard, yet they would be supplemented with magic during
this time. Baltorn however, was to spend this time isolated from all magical
contact whatsoever. He was quarantined to a secluded wing of the palace. There
he trained, visited only by his sparing partners, guild-masters, and one chosen
servant. The Emperor was pleased with this arrangement, and looked forward to
the day the outcome would be revealed, if only for his own amusement.
The Affect
Added Tue May 10 19:53:44 2005 at level 21:
He rather enjoyed his training and took to it well. He was never so able to focus
upon combat, and he progressed in skill swiftly. His trainers were quite
impressed, and the steady flow of beaten and broken sparing partners was a
testament to his ferocity. He chose daggers as his specialty, or perhaps they
chose him. The close proximity made combat personal. Hearing his opponents
labored breaths, their grunts of pain, the tearing of flesh and muscle, all drove
him to fight harder. Many a match was stopped to save a life or two or three as it
were at times.
Two years came and went. Baltorn had been transformed. He lived and breathed
combat, he was combat. The purity of his physical concentration, the
uncontaminated nature of his training, and his heritage all came together to
create a being superior to any the guard, to any the city had ever seen. And so
came the day of the test, the conclusion of the Emperors little experiment, the
end of one life, and the start of a new life.
The four once close friends met face to face one more in the room they would
engage in combat. The others looked at Baltorn with smiles and friendly eyes,
only to be met with disgust. He could see the weakness up them, he could smell
their contamination. The emperor entered and was seated for his viewing
pleasure. Baltorn was unable to stand still and paced as a caged animal. Two
matches would commence simultaneously, for comparison purposes. The
matches were chose by the Emperor himself, and combat began. His opponent
prepared with the magical enhancements provided for him, a look of confidence
in his eyes as unnatural speed overtook his body. Baltorn found his moves
indeed very quick, yet heavily telegraphed. He found no difficulty in countering
his blows. Before anyone had realized, his opponent lie on the floor, clutching
his side as crimson poured from it. Baltorn had not meant to stab him so
fiercely, so deeply, yet it took immense skill to hold back enough not to kill him
outright. The emperor stood in shock, the same shock stopping the other match
as well. The experiments neglected each other during this moment and Baltorn
read their eyes. He half trotted towards them, and in one deft combination,
dodged both their blows and left them in a similar state as the first. He did not
dare stop his now run to survey the damage, and leapt out the nearby window.
He now roams the lands, searching to perfect his combat skills, seeking to learn
from those like him, those free of contamination, the pure of mind, body, and
spirit.
+ Thoughts of a war torn mind.
Added Sat Aug 13 10:12:49 2005 at level 51:
A tattered looking Arial enters the village a impressive pace, coming to a rough
landing outside a sturdy hut. He kneels on one knee and struggles to catch his
breath, the blood of his enemies and himself run down from his weapons arms
body and head, mingling in a puddle below his well armored form. A defender
rushes over and dresses his wounds. He appears to be reluctant but grateful. He
catches his breath slowly and rests, his mind beginning to wander.
Nearly had that bastard...
Would have been a different story had that invoker not had shown up.
Missed his throat by pace at least, hell, I must be getting old.
Forty years..
For score years I have roamed this land. So much has changed, I can barely
remember. And what I do recall seem to be not of my own life, but that of
another's whom story I have only herd. This war has brought me much. Blood
and pain and joy and courage and victory and death and triumph. Yet one thing
has remained constant through all this chaos this turmoil. My purity has not
faltered.
I feel old. My body filled with scars and my bones ache in the joints. These
weapons in my hands have become a part of me and my hands fee oddly without
them. My heart was once warm and full of emotion now cold, callused,
calculating. Yet my kin gives me strength. My brothers and sisters of this
village, for only they know this burden, this joy, this life of purity. Damned be
they whom judge us, damn them all to the nine hells themselves.
House Keltra will die as I never took a wife. A glorious house in ruin, by my
hand alone I have caused such. Yet I am not sorry, I feel no remorse of my
actions. The great of my house would understand. I know they look down from
the heavens and understand. As for the rest, they can rot in that festering city
under the reckless actions of their infected Emperor. I have slain the emperor
with these very hands, and so end that chapter of my life.
My purity has taken my skill to nearly the maximum of this body. I must master
them before my life blood runs. To reach the maximum potential of this body
while maintaining my purity and slaying the infected... Than I shall die a
happy man.
Yelling and shouting erupts from the gates of the village.
In a fluid motion, Baltorn's head snaps towards the directions as he takes a
quick step and becomes airborne, weapons drawn.