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Hell wont quit after being thwarted twice. Time to take the fight BACK to the mortal relm. |
| [Introduction]
After being pushed back by mortals twice, the forces of hell are regrouping for another attack on the mortal relm. Deimos, a lesser demon from one of Mars' moons, has taken over hell's leigons and prepares to invade. Dont let the term "lesser" fool you. ---------------- FULL Alright guys and gals, the name of the game is RP. Pick a character class: !!!!THE ONLY REMAINING CLASS IS AMAZON!!!! Give a profile(pretty simple, you can give more info if you want to): Name: Age: Weapon: Description: We will have 1 of each class, Ill put a star by each class above when its taken. First come first serve. |
| Name: Boulpho Rohndus, Son of Chief Joulso Rohndus Age: 35 Weapon: Dual Axes Description: Shoulder-length raven hair. Brown, leathery skin (from his harsh environment). Blue circle inked under his left eye. Has a large pentagram-shaped scar permanantly burned into his back. Wears wolf hides like a vest and has large, fur-lined boots. His gloves are blessed by a barbarian priestess; they give him faster attacks. **** Boulpho Rohndus stood at the edge of the cliff that encompased his entire village. He looked down at the animals grazing on the hillside. With a carefully thrown spear, he could have easily taken one down, but his mind was occupied with more important matters. His bride to be, the lovely daughter of the senior man at arms, was killed in the foothills yesterday. Love was an unusual trait for a barbarian to have, but Boulpho couldnt deny his feelings for the woman. To cry, however, was never an option. A hardened barbarian of the frozen northlands couldnt be weak, couldnt cry. No matter what. The simple fact that she had been killed was not what really troubled Boulpho. It was the state of the corpse that bothered him. It was nothing special to find a man dead, ripped to shreds by some animal, but this body had been...mutilated. Her skull had been totally removed from her head, so cleanly that her skin was still in tact, and had been stuck on a forked stick in the ground. Her legs and arms were all broken and she had been obviously tortured. Her shoulders were cruelly sliced open and all manner of objects had been inserted beneath the skin. Boulpho just knew she had been alive for the terror. This was the work of demons. Not since the days of his ancestors had there been demon-related activity in the world. Since the three prime evils had been destroyed, everyone thought the demons would leave, and leave they did. This tragedy was a mystery. Also, the sky had a strange red hue to it lately, something you never saw to the north. Boulpho knew something was wrong....something was terribly wrong. |
| Name: Keaira (Meaning “Little Dark One”) Character Class: Druid Age: 23 Weapons: Keaira has three weapons, her primary one being her two Flails, and her secondary (Which she only uses for close hand combat) is a mace. Description: Keaira is a remarkable young woman, with ice blue eyes and long raven hair. Some would consider her beautiful, but her silent demeanor often scares them away. For her clothing the youth wears a tough brown leather corset, matched with pants of the same material. Her boots are made of a more light weight fabric, as she has become used to rough terrain. Keaira has a problem with words because she hasn’t talked in over three years. When she does talk, she has to think about the words she needs to use to get her point across, so mostly she opts for body language instead. Past: Keaira was not abandoned or lost in the woods, as most would have you believe. You see, she grew up with necromancers, but her heart told she was always meant to be a Druid. So she left the necromancer society and became a hermit of sorts, living in the bowls of an untamed forest for years with nothing but animals to consol her. Keaira came to love the forest that she lived in, and when it was burned to the ground by a group of drunkards, she hunted every last one of them down and ended their lives. She had never hated people before, but after what they had done to her home a deep hatred grew for them in her belly. Keaira became even more isolated, and shied away from most things human. ------- Keaira laid her dark muzzle down on her large wolfen paws, blue eyes watching the red sunset reflect of the trickling stream. Seeing this only reminded her of the dried blood on her face, which furthered to annoy the Druid. She licked her lips, cleaning only a little of the coppery substance. With a mental sigh the hermit of a girl got up and stretched, sauntering over to the stream that seemed to run with blood as the sun reflected off of it. As she drew closer, a figure high on the over hanging cliff drew her attention. It was a man, a barbarian by the looks of it. She watched him carefully for a moment, analyzing his movements to make sure he wasn’t hostile. When she was positive that he was distracted, she came to the stream to drink from it. She paid the man on the cliff little mind. If he meant her no harm, she had no angst against him. After Keaira had her fill, she splashed water up in an attempt to bathe herself. No such luck. She glanced back up at the man on the cliff to be positive that he was still preoccupied. Quickly she morphed her body back to its original form to better remove the blood. She felt the magic run its course through her body, smiling as it left her with a soft tingling feeling. Once the transformation was finished she was crouched by the water in her human body and about to clean the dried blood off. That is, she was before she noticed a pair of eyes staring at her from the bushes. |
| Name:Zane Gardina Age:19 Class:Necromancer Weapon:He has bells that can do different stuff with death. He can go into death and conjure dead. He can also sense the dead. Description:He has white hair and red eyes. |
Name: Adrian Wolfsbane Age: 19 Class: Sorcerer Weapon: Well, his magic for one, though it's rather unreliable and unpredictable at the moment. And he's passable with sword and bow, but completely hopeless at hand to hand. Description: Rather small and slight, Adrian stands around 5'5''. He has long auburn hair and green eyes. He favors doe-skin breeches and loose shirts. *** The explosion wracked the small house, plates and cups shattering on the hard floor. "Whoops?" Adrian looked sheepishly at his Master. "Adrian." The old man's face was stern, but his blue eyes twinkled behind his half-moon spectacles. "I know!" Adrian threw up his hands and smiled brightly. "At least I didn't blow out the windows again!" Master Rusyon smiled and left Adrian to the cleaning up. Later, once things had been put right, Adrian went outside to tend to the garden. When he happened, on chance, to glace skyward, he was suprised to note a reddish hue to the sky. "That's odd," he murmured. "Something's not right." Standing, Adrian turned to go inside when something hit him from behind and the world went black. |
| Boulpho Rohndus pulled his two axes from his fine barbarian hosters at his side and leaped down the mountainside. Leaping like this, a skill the barbarians of the north were famous for, was easy for Boulpho. Leaping had been his favorite childhood activity since he had been training at the age of five. He grappled with a tree branch and, using his momentum, circled the great fir and gently dropped to one knee on the rocky slope. He stood, face in the wind, and took in the mountain's many scents. The woods smelled...odd this day. It was almost as if he could smell his loved one's blood on the mountain breeze. With a smooth motion, he threw both of the axes to the ground. They both stuck into the hearty soil with a nice "flooph" sound. Boulpho sat down, his back to a rock, and looked up to the reddish sky. "Something," he started, "is terribly wrong with this place." For the first time in his entire life as a barbarian, he put his hands in his open palms and cried. The sorrow of his loss overwhelming him with explosive emotions. But still, he could make no noise. Nobody could hear his sobs. With a soggy hand he reached down and grabbed a handful of dead leaves and pine needles. He brought them to his face and took a smell of the earth's goodness. But the earth's goodness was not to be found. Only the smell of doom, the smell of evil, was in this dirt. This only backed his premonitions of some forboding evil. Something, as he had thought so many times that week, was terribly wrong. He looked, again, to the red sky. He couldn't be sure, but he thought the red hue was getting more vivid, more intense. And with his sharp barbarian eyes he thought he saw something else. A small, small, red speck next to the cloud-covered sun. He dismissed it as a trick, an illusion of his own eyes. His heart bled with anxiety for his people, for the very world he inhabited. He sniffed and whiped away all of his tears with the back of his hand. Grabbing an ax in each hand, he heaved himself up and walked back towards his village. He would have simply jumped up the path, but as he turned to face the hillside, he saw them. The demons. Demons were merely legends in this day and age. Everybody knew that they existed, or had once existed, but they all thought they were of another world. More specifically, Hell. There were seven of them, all red in color and sharp in every little detail of their evilness. Their hair was jet black, so black you felt the sun itself would be sucked into the color. Their eyes were solid white, so unnatural. They wore a belt with a loin cloth slung over the crotch, but they seemed not to even care for that much. They had bucklers with demonic standards emblazened upon them, and each carried a weapon of some sort. What was most interesting was their cargo. Carried by each was a piece of a human. A piece of a barbarian, Boulpho knew by the colors. He refused to believe the obvious, refused to believe that his village was gone. One demon stopped and turned towards him, eyeing him evilly. He screeched some demon chatter and the others ran to his side. He pointed his scimitar at Boulpho and then... He charged. |
| Keaira watched the assassin creep out of the bushes, distrust very obvious in her eyes. This was a shifty wench, one that lived by the night, Keaira could tell by the smell of her. The other woman said something that interrupted these thoughts, and it took her a moment to understand it. “I’m…,” she said awkwardly for a moment, pausing to think about her word placement. “…used…to it,” the Druid finally finished, before kneeling down and scooping up enough water to clean her face. Wiping the back of her hand across her face, Keaira studied the other. ‘I could take her, if I had to,’ she thought to herself. ‘She would be a much easier opponent than the barbarian.’ At this her eyes went wide, realizing her mistake. Whipping around quickly, not caring that she had left her back open to the enemy, she scanned the overhanging cliff for the man that had stood there previously. When the man could not be found, she continued to look until she spotted him walking away, back towards the local village. Relief flooded her breast, and she let out a sigh. She had worried that the man had saw her in her wolf form, and had come to slay her. Barbarians weren’t exactly the sharpest axe in the weapon rack. Eyes narrowing, she gazed the horizon and noted seven red figures carrying human limbs away from the village. ‘What are those things?’ Keaira thought, squinting against the blood red sun. She turned to look back at the other woman, who had moved very little. “Something…bad?” she said, hoping that that had been the right word to describe the situation. Without another word, she morphed back into her previous form and sprinted across the plains to where the red things stood. With a large leap, she sprung over the barbarian’s head and pounced on one of the alien like creatures before proceeding to rip it’s throat out. |
| Name: Malaki Age: 23 Class: Paladin Weapon: (2H)Longsword Description: He wears a white tunic and pants with shoes that have two small wings on the side (They do not move.) On his right hand has a small crescent moon that glows whenever he feels like he is in danger or scared. He is really determined person who is silent most of the time. Becuase of him being a White Paladin (person in the mist of white magic for peace) he helps anyone who needs, regardless of what he thinks. |
| Zane untraped the bell Sarneth, the binder, out of the banister. He put all his will into the bell. He rang the bell and its strong sound put the demon under his will. Zane said,"Go to the last gate of death and don't stoptill you get there!" The demon started disapeared into Death. |
| The smell of smoke awoke him. Adrian opened his eyes, winced as the shooting pain roared through his head. The smoke was acrid and burned his eyes when he opened them. Adrian sat up and cried out at the sight of his home. Flames were angrily eating their way up the sides of the house, and shooting out windows. Glass had shattered, scattering itself across the grass and onto Adrian himself. Crawling, Adrian tried to find Master Rushyon, but knew, somehow it would be futile. There was no way a someone could survive the massive destruction of the fire. Adrian's lungs were constricted with smoke, he had to struggle to draw in breath. With tears running down his face, Adrian crawled to the far side of the field, towards the mountains, and watched as the only home he'd ever known crumbled to the ground. |
| The creature in front of him was quite a curious thing, but definitely not unknown to the barbarians. Since the Mage Wars, druids had been disliked by the barbarians. To say there were enemies was an overstatement, and at the moment Boulpho was going to assume that this druid was his ally. He spun his axes in his hands with unusual quickness, a full circle, to get the feel of the familiar weapons. With agility unknown to most his size, he jumped at the remaining demons. One demon brought his shield up to block, but the force of Boulpho's blow knocked him down. It only had time to shriek as the killing blow came in swift and hard. Another demon tried to attack him from behind, but Boulpho spun and deflected the crude hit with the flat of his blade. He impulsively threw his fist out and connected squarely with the demon's face. Boulpho leapt into the air, using his strong legs, and landed on one leg, right on the demon's throat. Boulpho looked to his right and saw the druid make short work of another demon. Three more shrieking villans worked their way towards the two. One looked nervously to his kin and hesitantly shifted from one foot to the other. The others didnt seem to be thrilled about the ensuing fray but Boulpho sensed they didnt have a choice. After all, a small group of lessers couldnt have possibly destroyed his entire home by themselves. There were more somewhere. With all the rage of a huge man who had just lost everything dear to him, Boulpho threw one of his axes. The ax landed, blade-first, in one of the demon's face. It fell to the earth, head nearly split in two, and blood leaked from the massive wound that was his head. Boulpho only saw a streak of black fur as the druid flew past Boulpho and connected with another demon's throat. The druid tore at it with savegry and obvious blood lust until its only movement came from her vicious flailing. Awestruck by the spectacle that was the druid, Boulpho didnt notice the one terrified demon fleeing the scene. He would return to his master. In the near future, there would be hell to pay. |
| The battle was brief, Keaira thought as she made quick work of the last creature. They had been interesting at the start, but they were all far too weak to be of any fun. Blood dripped from her fangs and she gave a wolfish grin at the irony of the whole situation. Her ears perked up as she heard the ground shift between someone’s feet and she whirled around to see the barbarian standing there. “Man,” Keaira growled out as she began to change back to her original form. She didn’t particularly care to have to look so far up to meet the man’s gaze. Once the transformation was done she drew her mace and continued her glare as she had before. Druids and barbarians had never gotten along well, but they didn’t hate each other. Often in times of great need, they put aside their differences and vanquished their foes. But Keaira didn’t know whether she could trust this one or not… In the back of her mind, Keaira wondered what had happened to the shifty wench. |
| "Stupid bushes. I hate walking through them." Malaki thought while swinging his blade harshly trying to cut through a thicken. When he finally got out, he brushed off his dirty tunic. It had been days since Malaki had seen any town or village. He left a few days ago becuase of his brother. Jahne had told that there was a certain sword that a Barbarian had made and wanted Malaki to pick it up for him. Since Jahne was his brother, he didn't make him pay but Malaki had a feeling about this whole trip. It had bugged him ever since he left, but in the end he would just keep brushing it off. "Seems that the color of the sky has changed ever since I left." he thought has he kept walking toward the end of a large ridge. Beyond this ridge was the village he seeked. "Finally. I made it. I-" he thought but then droped his sword. The whole entir village was destroyed. Destroyed didn't really fit it. It was a massacer. "Wha-wha-what happened?!" he said in shock. He quickly picked up his sword and put it in his seath. He then quickly ran to the passage that led down to the village. |
| Zane felt the masacarhappen wit the stench of death near by. He felt all the spirts, slowly driffting into death. He saw on of the survivors running aways and followed. |
| Adrian felt like he'd been walking for days, stumbling over rocks and through trees in search of some sign of survival. Every home and village he had come to had been destroyed. Trembling with hunger and exhaustion, Adrian fell to the ground and crawled his way to the shelter of the brush alongside the path. He knew it would be smarter to keep going, but he couldn't walk anymore. Not even energy spells had been of help the last few hours. No, better to hide and get a few hours of sleep befoe making his way furhter into the mountains. He only hoped he wasn't heading toward danger. |
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