Description
The progeny of some unspeakable evil stands before you, blazing with
an aura of malevolence. The body of this creature resembles that of
a man, though its skin has an unnatural ebony quality to it, which
gleams dully in the light, as if it were made of stone. A number of
ragged, slightly dulled gashes on his body could be scars, though the
pain of accumulating them must have been torrential. Locked in an
expression of hellish glee is the demon face carved upon the archaic
ivory mask that covers his face. The eyes are set with flawless topaz
gems that radiate an eerie chartreuse glow. Etched in painstaking
detail upon the forehead of the demon mask is a group of archaic
heiroglyphs. Strangely, there are no eye-holes anywhere to be seen.
The rest of his head is covered by the black hood of his cloak, which
has been tailored to allow an opening for his featherless, reptilian
wings.
A massive, ornate scabbard, inlaid with bones and jewels, hangs from
his hip, housing a blade of gigantic proportions.
Role
The Stygian Sunrise.
Added Sat Nov 1 14:16:22 2003 at level 51:
Upon a windspwet cliff I draw my blade and pray. I pray with the last
sliver of the darkened sky, shrouded from the moon and her prying eye. I
rehearse the dark forms of the blade as the sun shatters my solace. I do
not guide it anymore, and the blade, in fact, guides me through the for-
bidden forms. I do not know what force gave us, that is the blade and I,
this knowledge but I do know their purpose--to prepare me to battle the
rising sun, to besmirch all that it represents before the very eyes of
the Gods who despise me so.
I glorify the truth, the darkness of man, and the Ill Omen in the face of
Shokai as he rises each morning, and I will curse him until the last flame
of the dawn burns no more. With these hands, the hands that have killed so
many of his champions, I sew the seeds of his destruction.
I draw my blade and pray. I pray for this power to never fail me, for if
it does not, I will bear it for eternity, and be the blight of this world
forever more.
Beliefs.
Added Tue Aug 26 00:21:01 2003 at level 20:
Forget Justice.
It will never exist in the way it is desired. The unwillingness
to sever this false idea from the psyche will be the downfall of
of every ruler, be it swiftly or over many bloody, fruitless years.
Justice lives on the edge of a blade, demanding a homage of blood
sacrifice. Death is the ultimate justice for the undeserving masses.
Damnation is the extension of that justice in the next world; a place
where it *can* exist in the way it is desired.
Forget Freedom.
To claim to have it is a lie. Every gypsy, barbarian, troubadour,
and their mothers dangle by the same invisible strings as the rest
of us. The relationship of the "alpha" and the "beta" is one of
mutual slavery. Master and pawn are tethered together, yet the
advantage of being the master is in being able to decide which
slave situation they would rather dwell within. Death brings no
release for those who have discovered this truth, for in Hell
no one is the master, only lesser and greater servants to the
Unspoken One.
Be True Only to Your Nature.
The lowest pond scum are those that deny their unsavory passions.
Those who rebel against the undeniable truth that they are damned
and unholy things. These are the ones who will forever rest within
spiked casks when their undying bodies tire from the endless horrors
that they will be punished with. These are the ones who are beyond
the redemption of the Unspoken One.
Reflections on the Flesh.
Added Sat Sep 13 17:44:59 2003 at level 36:
The unholy union between the Scions of this world and the denizens of
the shadow realm has begun to change me in ways that I had never
anticipated. I began hearing them in my mind after being linked to
the Scepter for a few weeks. When I would strike the killing blow
upon a victim, they would surge, as if they were gorging themselves
on the act of murder. When I would perish at the hand of some foe,
again they would grow louder, feasting on the pain of my death...a
pain that they could feel, through the link I had accepted to the
Chasm. Many were the years that passed in service to both my Lord
and my Order, and they were always there, whispering things in my
mind that I could not understand. But it was not maddening...it feels
strangely comfortable, as if I were among kin. Recently my physical
form has begun to alter. So slow was the onset that at first I did
not notice it, but now it is all too obvious to escape my attention.
My wing feathers began to grow dull and grey, losing their luster as
surely as a corpse loses its rosy hue, and then they began to fall
out, revealing an opaque membrane, fragmented by the red slivers
that are my veins. At the same time this was happening, my spine had
developed a protrusion towards the bottom, and began taking on the
unmistakable likeness of a tail. My flesh has turned dark, as dark
as a hen, roasted over a fire, and within it is a strange monochrome,
which reflects light only slightly. The latest step of this transformation
has been the alteration of my eyes. Where once the whites were white, and
the irises were yellow, only glistening black orbs reside. I see as good
as I always have...perhaps even better at night, but it is still strange.
I find that I cannot keep my unholy weapon out of sight for long, for
I begin to crave its company-the company of anguished souls, the company
of death. All in all, I think I enjoy this transformation, though I do
not think many others will.
Surviving the Gauntlet.
Added Fri Oct 3 17:56:15 2003 at level 40:
Even Death has known despair in its ageless conquest over the living,
and so too have I. It came as a suprise, for I had believed that I had
shed any lingerning emotions that might have led to it long ago. A slew
of painful defeats at the hands of my cunning foes damaged the confidence
that I had built up. I felt the cold grip of despair as I had when I was
a hungry hatchling, and it was not easily shaken. In a decisive battle, I
fled to my dwelling in the cliffs above the Sea of Despair and remained
in hiding for several months. In that time I meditated upon all that my
eyes had seen, and every death I had dealt; I journeyed deep into my
faith and eventually found a firm foundation upon which I could finally
stand. I realized that what I had been before my 'crisis' was a seeker
of death, a seeker of despair, a student of things that I didn't understand
as fully as I could have. My spirits were raised by the knowledge that I
had truly come to understand what I was meant for. I understood, at last,
what it was to be an angel of death. My Lord seemed to have foreseen this
change in me, and was prepared to forgive my inability to sever my own
despair for a price. First he took my life, but I did not feel that it was
painful enough to be called a true punishment, so I offered forth the souls
I had gathered since my return, and he accepted it. For my unwavering
faith in Him, and my now unshakable determination, he dubbed me as his
Dark Knight, for all of the world to fear. It is my destiny, it is my sole
passion, and they will all know the fires of Beroxxus, and the blade of
his Dark Knight.