Description
A twisted little runt of a drow is here, the wet fleshy sound of his breathing
audible through his misshapen, hooked nose. His eyes are rimmed in dark scar
tissue, no eyebrows top them nor does even the slimmest wisp of hair protrude
from his hood. All of his flesh, at least what little bit is exposed beneath
the shoddy rags he is swathed in, is similarly burned. His gait is shuffling
and stilted, though he moves with a disconcerting quickness when startled.
Role
It burns.
Added Mon Aug 6 18:54:28 2007 at level 1:
The first thing he felt was a pair of adamantite forceps gripping his head.
It burned. He still remembers it.
They gave him an adamantite rattle, dropping it into the basket he slept in.
Smoke poured out and the smell of charred flesh filled the chamber. The baby
couldn't get away. He remembers. They figured it out then, but the mother was
too weak willed to kill him.
He wanted to be a warrior, but they laughed at him. How could he wear the
mail and wield a sword? It would burn him. They laughed at him and he
remembers.
His small talent for magic allowed him to survive, and he skulked around the
tunnels of Azaleth, swathed in rags and wrappings, surrounded by It, hating
It. He remembers.
His skill at working flesh with magic was great, he had practiced every time
he touched It. He was hired, though they found him distasteful. Even an odd
tool has its use in Azaleth. The first payday had come, and they handed him
his coins. The adamantite disks clinked like bells as they hit the basalt
floor, a counter point to his screams. He remembers.
There is less of It here, but the sun makes the scars ache. He remembers.
There will be a world without It. He can see it in his mind. In his dreams.
In his dreams there is nothing to burn.
Joining Outlander.
Added Sun Aug 19 07:57:39 2007 at level 39:
The pain still lingered, the burning bright in his mind, but the place below
faded to memory. The trees made caverns here, and It did not haunt him so.
Wet fleshy sacs of babble surrounded him, their whining voices filling his
ears. He hated. The breeze across scarred flesh was kindling. The movement of
crows in the air fuel. The stink of their cities and the laughter of
their children blurred and meshed and fueled the flames. Above and below, he
carried the dark places with him, and all that illuminated it was the
burning. The wet sounds of their flesh ripping and the drumbeat of their
bones popping, this was his succor. The pain spoke to him through the haze of
madness, urging him on to the dark places in the woods, and there he found
what he sought. They might be fools, but they would destroy It, and so the
burning was brighter.
Venom's Madman.
Added Sun Aug 19 07:58:53 2007 at level 39:
Be as the insects! Be as the plagues! Cull the weak like a pox in the
Night, showing no mercy. Bring rot to the cities and let their walls crumble
That anarchy may once again allow the Ancients to awaken! This is the wish
Of the Ancients that patron you!
The Totem of the Venoms welcomes you as a kindred spirit.
He was wanted. He who had been as scum beneath the boots of even the lowest
male, he whos life was pain and burning, he was wanted. Kick a man, starve
him of bread and give him nothing to quench his thirst for an age, and he
will hate. He will burn, and all he will see is death. Give this man a cold
drop on the tongue, a crumb in the all consuming pit of his gut, and this man
is your blade. So to, was Neyveryd the creature, now, of Venom.
PK Deaths
Nov 21, 2007|Lv 51|The Temple of the Divine|vs 1: Lyristeon (100%,KB)