Azaran the Wanderer
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 100
Age: Early 30s
Appearance: (Drawing commissioned, done by Griffith)
Azaran is roughly 5'7", with a muscular, athletic build. He has black hair, cut short to his head, along with a pair of purple eyes. His hair is usually hidden by his armored helmet, however, one with a star-esque face opening and black markings along the top of the head. He wears a purple sleeved shirt underneath a steel cuirass, with pauldrons going out over the shoulders. He wears tanned pants, as well as a pair of armored greaves.
Equipment: As well as his armor, Azaran carries with him few supplies, mainly a waterskin and a small pouch for some food and general supplies as he travels. To protect himself, however, he carries a basic heater shield and what seems to be a hook made out of black metal, sharpened to a short blade at the far end with sharp points on both ends, and a rounded point design on the back. Although it seems unassuming, it can also materialize what seems to be a translucent purple rope-like structure wrapping around the uppermost part of the hook, and extending out any length up to 20ft or so, with a barbed hook at the end. The rope seems extremely hard to break, and the hook seems to be sharp as a blade.
Skills and Abilities: Despite his hesitance to use it, Azaran is very skilled at fighting, and due to the copious amount of time he spends out in the wilderness he is an excellent survivalist, knowing how to spend weeks at a time on his own on travels between civilizations.
Biography: Growing up, Azaran Ðyáhmo lived in the lap of luxury, sheltered from the harsh realities of the rest of his people in the archipelago. His parents, Duke and Duchess of the region, kept him away from seeing that. However, as time went on, his curiosity got the better of him. One night, while his family was sleeping, he snuck out of the palace, to see the world outside. To his dismay, the people were struggling. His parents focused more on their party lives that the lives of the people they were supposed to serve. Disease ran rampant, people were starving in the streets, and bandits robbed in broad daylight. When he returned to his home in the early hours in the morning, he vowed to make his world a better place, one person at a time. He forsook his parents' name, and stole their most precious heirloom, the God Hook Déshimoh, whisking it away in the dead of night to wander the countryside, never staying in one place long, passing along the good fortunes of comradery to his people. Even after the flood destroyed everything, though, he didn't give up, and he plans to spread the same word around this world as well.
Registered: Apr 13, 2021 17:52:55 GMT -5
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Post by Azaran the Wanderer on Mar 9, 2022 22:15:10 GMT -5
If you sail north from the shores of Trinity Island, you will soon encounter a river, flanked on one side by the beginnings of a mountain range, and on both by forest. The river is quite wide, and it varies in depth from just deep enough to reach the average person’s shin to deeper than can be accurately gauged by eyesight.
The forest around it is quiet and still, underbrush often cutting through the floor of dead leaves to obscure the forest floor while sunlight dapples through the leaves of the trees. At times though, that calm silence can turn tense, and it may feel like something is watching you from amongst the brush…
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Azaran the Wanderer
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 100
Age: Early 30s
Appearance: (Drawing commissioned, done by Griffith)
Azaran is roughly 5'7", with a muscular, athletic build. He has black hair, cut short to his head, along with a pair of purple eyes. His hair is usually hidden by his armored helmet, however, one with a star-esque face opening and black markings along the top of the head. He wears a purple sleeved shirt underneath a steel cuirass, with pauldrons going out over the shoulders. He wears tanned pants, as well as a pair of armored greaves.
Equipment: As well as his armor, Azaran carries with him few supplies, mainly a waterskin and a small pouch for some food and general supplies as he travels. To protect himself, however, he carries a basic heater shield and what seems to be a hook made out of black metal, sharpened to a short blade at the far end with sharp points on both ends, and a rounded point design on the back. Although it seems unassuming, it can also materialize what seems to be a translucent purple rope-like structure wrapping around the uppermost part of the hook, and extending out any length up to 20ft or so, with a barbed hook at the end. The rope seems extremely hard to break, and the hook seems to be sharp as a blade.
Skills and Abilities: Despite his hesitance to use it, Azaran is very skilled at fighting, and due to the copious amount of time he spends out in the wilderness he is an excellent survivalist, knowing how to spend weeks at a time on his own on travels between civilizations.
Biography: Growing up, Azaran Ðyáhmo lived in the lap of luxury, sheltered from the harsh realities of the rest of his people in the archipelago. His parents, Duke and Duchess of the region, kept him away from seeing that. However, as time went on, his curiosity got the better of him. One night, while his family was sleeping, he snuck out of the palace, to see the world outside. To his dismay, the people were struggling. His parents focused more on their party lives that the lives of the people they were supposed to serve. Disease ran rampant, people were starving in the streets, and bandits robbed in broad daylight. When he returned to his home in the early hours in the morning, he vowed to make his world a better place, one person at a time. He forsook his parents' name, and stole their most precious heirloom, the God Hook Déshimoh, whisking it away in the dead of night to wander the countryside, never staying in one place long, passing along the good fortunes of comradery to his people. Even after the flood destroyed everything, though, he didn't give up, and he plans to spread the same word around this world as well.
Registered: Apr 13, 2021 17:52:55 GMT -5
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Post by Azaran the Wanderer on Mar 9, 2022 22:17:36 GMT -5
The ship ride for Azaran and Anathema would be a short one, totalling a few hours at most before they arrived at the distant shore, only a short walk from the river’s mouth. After they taken all of their supplies from the ship and entered the forest lining the side of the river, Azaran would begin to question Anathema while he cut through the underbrush with his hook, taking the chance to ask about her homeland and, if she were inclined to share, her part within it.
Occasionally the wanderer would stop to inspect a bush or tree, looking at its fruits to determine if it were edible and usually deciding it best to leave the unknown plant be for the time being. If it were similar enough to plants he had seen before though, he would take a few of the fruits and stuff them in his bag for when they inevitably set up camp.
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Anathema
Committed
Roleplay posts: 51
Appearance: A tall, imposing demon woman with pale blue skin, yellow eyes, and curved horns that protrude backwards from her forehead. She wears her hair loose, reaching the base of her spine in length, and wears simple earth-toned vestments that suggest a modest lifestyle.
Equipment: Anathema's chief possession is her bastard sword, a heavy but otherwise unremarkable blade forged from good steel. Counted amongst the rest of of her belongings are a hunting knife and a pack containing various items useful for survival, as well as a small device of unknown origin.
Skills and Abilities: Anathema is adept both in martial combat and tactics. Her skill with a blade is bolstered by her demon strength, placing her physical ability above that of an average human.
Registered: Sept 9, 2021 22:36:23 GMT -5
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Post by Anathema on Mar 12, 2022 17:22:37 GMT -5
And Anathema answered in turn. Her response began with her usual brand of tight-lipped hesitation, but she did manage to summon some select details from her past. Mostly, she spoke of her life before coming to the Mortal Plane. That hers was a people born of conquest, of blood and ruin. An empire of demons that stalked the furthest reaches of reality, sinking its talons into countless worlds that had the misfortune of falling within their reach.
"Memories of my home are... cloudy. When most of your life is walked on foreign soil, it all starts to bleed together." She paused in thought, snapping a fruit from a nearby tree while trying to recall details of the plane. "I remember the cold. The ash. Sometimes, I think I miss it. Isn't that strange? Can you miss someone, even after you've forgotten the color of their eyes?"
Anathema blinked away her reverie, uncertain at what point she had stopped speaking about Zythir. She centered herself before walking back to Azaran, dropping the strange fruit into his pack with a blank expression.
"I've lived a long time, Azaran. Snuffed out more lives than I can count, for the glory of the Legion. There's... a lot I wish I could take back. A lot I wish I could forget. All you need to know is that I left that life behind."
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Azaran the Wanderer
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 100
Age: Early 30s
Appearance: (Drawing commissioned, done by Griffith)
Azaran is roughly 5'7", with a muscular, athletic build. He has black hair, cut short to his head, along with a pair of purple eyes. His hair is usually hidden by his armored helmet, however, one with a star-esque face opening and black markings along the top of the head. He wears a purple sleeved shirt underneath a steel cuirass, with pauldrons going out over the shoulders. He wears tanned pants, as well as a pair of armored greaves.
Equipment: As well as his armor, Azaran carries with him few supplies, mainly a waterskin and a small pouch for some food and general supplies as he travels. To protect himself, however, he carries a basic heater shield and what seems to be a hook made out of black metal, sharpened to a short blade at the far end with sharp points on both ends, and a rounded point design on the back. Although it seems unassuming, it can also materialize what seems to be a translucent purple rope-like structure wrapping around the uppermost part of the hook, and extending out any length up to 20ft or so, with a barbed hook at the end. The rope seems extremely hard to break, and the hook seems to be sharp as a blade.
Skills and Abilities: Despite his hesitance to use it, Azaran is very skilled at fighting, and due to the copious amount of time he spends out in the wilderness he is an excellent survivalist, knowing how to spend weeks at a time on his own on travels between civilizations.
Biography: Growing up, Azaran Ðyáhmo lived in the lap of luxury, sheltered from the harsh realities of the rest of his people in the archipelago. His parents, Duke and Duchess of the region, kept him away from seeing that. However, as time went on, his curiosity got the better of him. One night, while his family was sleeping, he snuck out of the palace, to see the world outside. To his dismay, the people were struggling. His parents focused more on their party lives that the lives of the people they were supposed to serve. Disease ran rampant, people were starving in the streets, and bandits robbed in broad daylight. When he returned to his home in the early hours in the morning, he vowed to make his world a better place, one person at a time. He forsook his parents' name, and stole their most precious heirloom, the God Hook Déshimoh, whisking it away in the dead of night to wander the countryside, never staying in one place long, passing along the good fortunes of comradery to his people. Even after the flood destroyed everything, though, he didn't give up, and he plans to spread the same word around this world as well.
Registered: Apr 13, 2021 17:52:55 GMT -5
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Post by Azaran the Wanderer on Mar 13, 2022 21:07:40 GMT -5
Azaran would listen quietly as Anathema recounted her time in such a life, nodding thoughtfully as he did. “I understand.” He said, cutting through a bush. “The memories of my travels blur together as well. I saw the same things, time after again, no matter where I went. By the time the Waters came I could barely recall what my h…what the place I grew up looked like.”
A red berry by the water caught his eye. He attempted to pick it up, but the berry burst onto his hand, leaving behind a ruby stain. He looked at it. “However blurry those memories get, there are always moments that stand clear as crystal, with the clearest of them all being my biggest mistakes.” He wiped his hand onto the ground below, leaving behind only a minor redness on his hand. “Those moments when I left people behind, or those where I was forced to do the unthinkable. Unfortunately we cannot take it back. All we can do is remember it, and miss those that no longer know us, no matter how distant of a memory they seem to be.”
The wandering warrior glanced over at Anathema as she dropped the berry into his pack. “You and I are like fire, Anaþema. We destroy, we burn, and the things we char will always carry that mark.” He took a deep breath and looked up, feeling the sun come through the leaves. “However, fire can also light the way. It can warm the coldest of nights. It all simply depends on how the wind blows it.”
He smiled slightly, looking back at his traveling companion. “I guess this is just a long-winded way of saying that I understand how it is to regret the past, but know that it does not define you. You are full of fire, but this Legion no longer holds your torch. That is in your hands, and I trust that you know how to direct it.”
Azaran stopped, looking at the area around them. The trees parted slightly, revealing a small clearing speckled with grass and dead leaves. He peers up at the sun, before starting to clear some leaves away from the center of the open area. “What would you say to setting up camp here for tonight? I know that we would be stopping quite early, but I figured it would be good to take it slower on the first day of travel. Besides, if you were still interested in learning it would be a good time to demonstrate some of the martial arts those monks taught me.”
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Anathema
Committed
Roleplay posts: 51
Appearance: A tall, imposing demon woman with pale blue skin, yellow eyes, and curved horns that protrude backwards from her forehead. She wears her hair loose, reaching the base of her spine in length, and wears simple earth-toned vestments that suggest a modest lifestyle.
Equipment: Anathema's chief possession is her bastard sword, a heavy but otherwise unremarkable blade forged from good steel. Counted amongst the rest of of her belongings are a hunting knife and a pack containing various items useful for survival, as well as a small device of unknown origin.
Skills and Abilities: Anathema is adept both in martial combat and tactics. Her skill with a blade is bolstered by her demon strength, placing her physical ability above that of an average human.
Registered: Sept 9, 2021 22:36:23 GMT -5
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Post by Anathema on Apr 3, 2022 15:02:15 GMT -5
She stared at him, mystified. Her lips parted as if to speak, but her voice caught in her throat. Who was this guy?
Demons didn't talk like Azaran did. Demons cut the fat from their speech, preferring their interactions to be blunt and to-the-point. The principle even carried over in her people's dialect of the V'Saadi language, which was more rigid and concise than its mother tongue - when people mince words on the battlefield, people die. But even then, Azaran didn't talk like any human she had met either. It was not unlike listening to a vestal of the Blue Flame quoting scripture, but... without the weight.
She nodded blankly back at him, hoping once again that Azaran had not yet grown weary of her silence. She looked down at her hands, wondering if she did know how to direct the fire that smoldered within her. Some days, she wasn't sure. All too often it felt like the fire was the one directing her.
"I... I'll remember that." She replied softly, smiling sadly back at him. "And I hope you're right."
Anathema's eyes fell to the clearing, glad for the distraction, and amenably dropped her supplies against a nearby tree. "Suits me fine. No use burning ourselves out without so much as a bearing." The demon took the opportunity to stretch her arms above her head, relaxing her muscles from the journey here. "Besides, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't curious about these 'monk arts' of yours. Been a while since a had the chance to learn something new." Especially when 'something new' took the definition of 'combat maneuvers from an uncharted plane'.
"Will I need my steel?"
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Azaran the Wanderer
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 100
Age: Early 30s
Appearance: (Drawing commissioned, done by Griffith)
Azaran is roughly 5'7", with a muscular, athletic build. He has black hair, cut short to his head, along with a pair of purple eyes. His hair is usually hidden by his armored helmet, however, one with a star-esque face opening and black markings along the top of the head. He wears a purple sleeved shirt underneath a steel cuirass, with pauldrons going out over the shoulders. He wears tanned pants, as well as a pair of armored greaves.
Equipment: As well as his armor, Azaran carries with him few supplies, mainly a waterskin and a small pouch for some food and general supplies as he travels. To protect himself, however, he carries a basic heater shield and what seems to be a hook made out of black metal, sharpened to a short blade at the far end with sharp points on both ends, and a rounded point design on the back. Although it seems unassuming, it can also materialize what seems to be a translucent purple rope-like structure wrapping around the uppermost part of the hook, and extending out any length up to 20ft or so, with a barbed hook at the end. The rope seems extremely hard to break, and the hook seems to be sharp as a blade.
Skills and Abilities: Despite his hesitance to use it, Azaran is very skilled at fighting, and due to the copious amount of time he spends out in the wilderness he is an excellent survivalist, knowing how to spend weeks at a time on his own on travels between civilizations.
Biography: Growing up, Azaran Ðyáhmo lived in the lap of luxury, sheltered from the harsh realities of the rest of his people in the archipelago. His parents, Duke and Duchess of the region, kept him away from seeing that. However, as time went on, his curiosity got the better of him. One night, while his family was sleeping, he snuck out of the palace, to see the world outside. To his dismay, the people were struggling. His parents focused more on their party lives that the lives of the people they were supposed to serve. Disease ran rampant, people were starving in the streets, and bandits robbed in broad daylight. When he returned to his home in the early hours in the morning, he vowed to make his world a better place, one person at a time. He forsook his parents' name, and stole their most precious heirloom, the God Hook Déshimoh, whisking it away in the dead of night to wander the countryside, never staying in one place long, passing along the good fortunes of comradery to his people. Even after the flood destroyed everything, though, he didn't give up, and he plans to spread the same word around this world as well.
Registered: Apr 13, 2021 17:52:55 GMT -5
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Post by Azaran the Wanderer on Apr 11, 2022 12:29:08 GMT -5
Azaran was quiet as Anathema went silent after his words. Hopefully, he thought, his carrying on was not becoming grating to her. Upon hearing her speak again, he smiled softly. “I have faith you will prove that I am.”
After Anathema agreed to the campsite, Azaran began clearing it out some more, making the leaf-free area for the fire larger and finding a few stones around to begin lining it. After finishing that, he drops his own supplies near a tree, including his shield and weapon. “I would say not this time.” He tells her as he walks over, taking a defensive stance with open hands. “I think it is easiest to start with basic hand to hand. If you could throw a punch at me so I can demonstrate? And no need to hold back, it will be easier to show if you don’t.”
Assuming that Anathema did indeed come at him with a punch, Azaran would twist to the inside of it, directing the actual strike away with one hand, then with the other as he throws a hand under Anathema’s arm and puts his shoulder to hers. Then, in a fluid motion, he stepped back between her legs and checks his hip into her body as he pulls her punching arm forward, using her momentum to throw her over his shoulder and to the ground. He let go of her early, to allow her to roll back up to standing without interference. “That may not be the easiest move, but it is one a seasoned fighter like yourself could pick up quite quickly, and I feel it embodies the art as a whole quite well.”
He paced over a short way to grab his hook, using it to draw into the ground three symbols, underlining them. “It is known as Fáduþ, The Way of Living Water. Take a look at the river we have been following.” He walked over to it, taking the opportunity to refill his waterskin as well. “As the water flows, it does not destroy the rocks it encounters. Instead, it flows around them, wearing them down slowly. It is the fact that the rock does not go with the water that causes it to wear down and erode. In Fáduþ, the fighter seeks to emulate the water, while the opponent is the stone. Flow around them, and let their own stance, their own fighting against the water, be what causes them to fall.” He turned to Anathema. “Do you want to try the technique?”
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Anathema
Committed
Roleplay posts: 51
Appearance: A tall, imposing demon woman with pale blue skin, yellow eyes, and curved horns that protrude backwards from her forehead. She wears her hair loose, reaching the base of her spine in length, and wears simple earth-toned vestments that suggest a modest lifestyle.
Equipment: Anathema's chief possession is her bastard sword, a heavy but otherwise unremarkable blade forged from good steel. Counted amongst the rest of of her belongings are a hunting knife and a pack containing various items useful for survival, as well as a small device of unknown origin.
Skills and Abilities: Anathema is adept both in martial combat and tactics. Her skill with a blade is bolstered by her demon strength, placing her physical ability above that of an average human.
Registered: Sept 9, 2021 22:36:23 GMT -5
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Post by Anathema on Apr 19, 2022 21:26:31 GMT -5
"No need to hold back." Anathema didn't have to be told twice. After depositing her gear on the border of their camp, she stretched briefly before approaching Azaran, her body relaxing into a sparring stance to match his own. Except Azaran's was different, in a peculiar way. It was somehow both more tense, and at the same time, even more relaxed than her own. Bah, but it made no difference. The man asked for a punch, and he would get one.
…Or, so she thought.
Anathema didn't realize what was happening until Azaran had thoroughly and effectively flung her to the ground. She didn't even have a chance to react. She staggered, looking up incredulously at her sparring partner - not from pain, but from sheer disbelief, lacking the ability to comprehend what had just transpired. The old man was faster than he looked. Stronger, too - Anathema was far from being classified as a lightweight. Was she out of practice...? No. Even in moments of weakness, Anathema hadn't been toyed with like that since first proving. Her eyes met Azaran's, and for a moment, something flickered behind their yellow depths. That old, familiar rage, the instinctive fury that had kept her alive for so many years, and the one she would carry with her to the end of her days. A voice, demanding that she teach this whelp respect.
It passed in an instant, like the water that had rinsed the berry's blood from Azaran's palm.
She righted herself, studying Azaran's stance more closely and doing her best to mimic it. She analyzed what she saw, matching it against what she had just experienced. Taking note of the focus that he placed on different parts of his body. Shoulders down, palms open. Lower center of gravity. There - that's closer.
"Show me."
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Azaran the Wanderer
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 100
Age: Early 30s
Appearance: (Drawing commissioned, done by Griffith)
Azaran is roughly 5'7", with a muscular, athletic build. He has black hair, cut short to his head, along with a pair of purple eyes. His hair is usually hidden by his armored helmet, however, one with a star-esque face opening and black markings along the top of the head. He wears a purple sleeved shirt underneath a steel cuirass, with pauldrons going out over the shoulders. He wears tanned pants, as well as a pair of armored greaves.
Equipment: As well as his armor, Azaran carries with him few supplies, mainly a waterskin and a small pouch for some food and general supplies as he travels. To protect himself, however, he carries a basic heater shield and what seems to be a hook made out of black metal, sharpened to a short blade at the far end with sharp points on both ends, and a rounded point design on the back. Although it seems unassuming, it can also materialize what seems to be a translucent purple rope-like structure wrapping around the uppermost part of the hook, and extending out any length up to 20ft or so, with a barbed hook at the end. The rope seems extremely hard to break, and the hook seems to be sharp as a blade.
Skills and Abilities: Despite his hesitance to use it, Azaran is very skilled at fighting, and due to the copious amount of time he spends out in the wilderness he is an excellent survivalist, knowing how to spend weeks at a time on his own on travels between civilizations.
Biography: Growing up, Azaran Ðyáhmo lived in the lap of luxury, sheltered from the harsh realities of the rest of his people in the archipelago. His parents, Duke and Duchess of the region, kept him away from seeing that. However, as time went on, his curiosity got the better of him. One night, while his family was sleeping, he snuck out of the palace, to see the world outside. To his dismay, the people were struggling. His parents focused more on their party lives that the lives of the people they were supposed to serve. Disease ran rampant, people were starving in the streets, and bandits robbed in broad daylight. When he returned to his home in the early hours in the morning, he vowed to make his world a better place, one person at a time. He forsook his parents' name, and stole their most precious heirloom, the God Hook Déshimoh, whisking it away in the dead of night to wander the countryside, never staying in one place long, passing along the good fortunes of comradery to his people. Even after the flood destroyed everything, though, he didn't give up, and he plans to spread the same word around this world as well.
Registered: Apr 13, 2021 17:52:55 GMT -5
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Post by Azaran the Wanderer on Apr 20, 2022 21:28:45 GMT -5
Azaran saw…something, as it flashed through Anathema’s eyes. He was concerned, but with whatever it was gone the next instant, he didn’t have the time to ponder that further. He watched as his companion took a stance like his, looking it over. Low center of gravity, open hands, relaxed shoulders, even weight on each foot. Everything looked good from what he could tell.
“You have the stance.” He told her. “If you just hold out your arm, I will talk through my moves this time, so you can see it better.”
As he began, much slower this time, he would begin to speak. “As you step towards them, start with an inside block, then replace it with an outside block.” He said, flowing through the motions as he stepped with a half-turned foot, already beginning the twist he’d have to take. Then, he grabbed her wrist with his hand. “From here, grab the arm and begin to scoop under their shoulder. Then, bring your other foot down hard between their legs.” He finished the twist and planted his other foot in place, lightly checking her with his hip and tugging on her arm as he did so. Unsurprisingly, the lack of strength in his throw and the lack of Anathema’s own momentum would leave her stationary this time. “Then guide them over your shoulder. If they are attacking at full speed, they cannot help but go to the ground.” He walked a short ways away from her and turned to face her again. “Are you ready to try doing it once?” He asked. “The most important parts to remember are to never stop moving and to primarily use their own momentum against them. It should not be a great effort to throw them.” He drops into his stance again. “Whenever you are ready for me.”
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Anathema
Committed
Roleplay posts: 51
Appearance: A tall, imposing demon woman with pale blue skin, yellow eyes, and curved horns that protrude backwards from her forehead. She wears her hair loose, reaching the base of her spine in length, and wears simple earth-toned vestments that suggest a modest lifestyle.
Equipment: Anathema's chief possession is her bastard sword, a heavy but otherwise unremarkable blade forged from good steel. Counted amongst the rest of of her belongings are a hunting knife and a pack containing various items useful for survival, as well as a small device of unknown origin.
Skills and Abilities: Anathema is adept both in martial combat and tactics. Her skill with a blade is bolstered by her demon strength, placing her physical ability above that of an average human.
Registered: Sept 9, 2021 22:36:23 GMT -5
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Post by Anathema on May 9, 2022 13:13:57 GMT -5
It was fundamentally different from the way she had learned to fight. Relying on your opponent to act before doing so yourself - it opened yourself to weakness, made one vulnerable. It was considered more efficient, more masterful to instead rely only on the actions of ones' own body. Honing it into a razor's edge until they were a force that simply could not be countered, could not be answered. More foolish pride.
She followed Azaran's movements closely as he guided her through the maneuver - ignoring for the moment that she hadn't been touched by another living being in several months. Maybe longer? It all seemed to blend together. When she felt reasonably confident in her mimicry, she took up a position opposite her sparring partner, and beckoned for him to approach with a wave of her fingers. "As I'll ever be."
It was sloppy - not nearly as fluid as Azaran's was. Reflexively, Anathema was still relying too much on raw strength that the redirection of Azaran's own. But when all was said and done, she had accomplished what she had set out to. With measured exhilaration, the fiend felt Azaran's momentum pass into her, and then directed it back again into himself, flinging him haphazardly away from her. She staggered, having lost some of her own balance in the exchange, but quickly regained her footing with a satisfied smirk.
"How strange." Anathema looked down at her open palms with curiosity. "Again. I can do better."
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Azaran the Wanderer
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 100
Age: Early 30s
Appearance: (Drawing commissioned, done by Griffith)
Azaran is roughly 5'7", with a muscular, athletic build. He has black hair, cut short to his head, along with a pair of purple eyes. His hair is usually hidden by his armored helmet, however, one with a star-esque face opening and black markings along the top of the head. He wears a purple sleeved shirt underneath a steel cuirass, with pauldrons going out over the shoulders. He wears tanned pants, as well as a pair of armored greaves.
Equipment: As well as his armor, Azaran carries with him few supplies, mainly a waterskin and a small pouch for some food and general supplies as he travels. To protect himself, however, he carries a basic heater shield and what seems to be a hook made out of black metal, sharpened to a short blade at the far end with sharp points on both ends, and a rounded point design on the back. Although it seems unassuming, it can also materialize what seems to be a translucent purple rope-like structure wrapping around the uppermost part of the hook, and extending out any length up to 20ft or so, with a barbed hook at the end. The rope seems extremely hard to break, and the hook seems to be sharp as a blade.
Skills and Abilities: Despite his hesitance to use it, Azaran is very skilled at fighting, and due to the copious amount of time he spends out in the wilderness he is an excellent survivalist, knowing how to spend weeks at a time on his own on travels between civilizations.
Biography: Growing up, Azaran Ðyáhmo lived in the lap of luxury, sheltered from the harsh realities of the rest of his people in the archipelago. His parents, Duke and Duchess of the region, kept him away from seeing that. However, as time went on, his curiosity got the better of him. One night, while his family was sleeping, he snuck out of the palace, to see the world outside. To his dismay, the people were struggling. His parents focused more on their party lives that the lives of the people they were supposed to serve. Disease ran rampant, people were starving in the streets, and bandits robbed in broad daylight. When he returned to his home in the early hours in the morning, he vowed to make his world a better place, one person at a time. He forsook his parents' name, and stole their most precious heirloom, the God Hook Déshimoh, whisking it away in the dead of night to wander the countryside, never staying in one place long, passing along the good fortunes of comradery to his people. Even after the flood destroyed everything, though, he didn't give up, and he plans to spread the same word around this world as well.
Registered: Apr 13, 2021 17:52:55 GMT -5
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Post by Azaran the Wanderer on May 12, 2022 21:16:41 GMT -5
When Anathema deemed herself ready, Azaran rushed in with a punch. He had expected her form wouldn’t be perfect, but he hadn’t quite expected just how much extra force she’d bring into the technique. Caught off-guard, Azaran felt himself fly momentarily through the air, before coming down to the ground in a powerful thud. A few seconds after he landed, he would begin attempting to get up, coughing, before the cough morphed into a hearty laugh.
“Good show!” He said once he had calmed down enough to form words through the laughter. “That was quite a good first attempt!” He stood from his sitting position, rolling his shoulder to make sure she hadn’t dislocated his arm. “I must say, you caught me off guard with that force! I would recommend not pulling too hard on the opponent’s arm. Usually, checking into the person harder would make you not need to pull with quite as much force, at least in my experience.” He takes his stance again, ready to come in with another attack so she could try again. “Also, I saw you stumble some at the end there. Try taking a deeper stance, that should make you harder to knock off-balance. Ready to try again?”
Azaran walked over to the fire, a small bundle of wood he had collected carried in his arms. He dropped it into the fire before dusting off his hands and sitting down. After spending most of the afternoon showing Anathema a few of the self-defense moves he had learned, Azaran had spent time chopping down some of the brush around them to use as firewood, using the relatively easy task as a chance to take it slow after how much he’d been tossed around. He winced at a pain in his shoulder. If there weren’t a bruise there tomorrow, he’d be surprised.
“I can take first watch.” He offers as he takes out his hooked blade, using this chance to polish it, and more specifically to wipe off the residues and wood chips from using it to gather the firewood. “That way you can get some rest.”
He raised his gaze from his weapon for a moment, and it came to rest on Anathema. As his eyes returned to Deshimóh, he remembered what she had said about it back in the village. ‘I get the impression it doesn’t like me much.’ He leaned back onto his hands, thinking about it, about how plainly its warpath was written on the blade. How death and destruction was said to have followed in its wake, disguised as actions needed to save humanity. At least, that’s all he could guess had happened with the old story. If Anathema were any indication, demons couldn’t have been bad enough to warrant what had happened. Now, it was up to him to prove that it could do more than slay demons. Perhaps the best way to start that journey was to put one at the other end of it, if only to prove a point.
He flipped the weapon around, holding the handle out towards his traveling companion. “Would you mind holding this for a moment?” He asks her. “I should really bring our other supplies closer to us, just in case anything is out there. I promise it will not hurt you.” He smiled, a slightly joking tone in his voice as he said the last part. “And it would only be for a moment.”
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Anathema
Committed
Roleplay posts: 51
Appearance: A tall, imposing demon woman with pale blue skin, yellow eyes, and curved horns that protrude backwards from her forehead. She wears her hair loose, reaching the base of her spine in length, and wears simple earth-toned vestments that suggest a modest lifestyle.
Equipment: Anathema's chief possession is her bastard sword, a heavy but otherwise unremarkable blade forged from good steel. Counted amongst the rest of of her belongings are a hunting knife and a pack containing various items useful for survival, as well as a small device of unknown origin.
Skills and Abilities: Anathema is adept both in martial combat and tactics. Her skill with a blade is bolstered by her demon strength, placing her physical ability above that of an average human.
Registered: Sept 9, 2021 22:36:23 GMT -5
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Post by Anathema on May 28, 2022 16:17:47 GMT -5
It had been a long while since Anathema was able to enjoy the luxury of such a taxing workout. By the time their sparring had concluded, the demon was sore inside and out, welcoming the dull pain like an old friend. She went about collecting stones for a fire pit while Azaran was busy collecting wood, her attention being diverted occasionally by the scuffing of small animals in the brush. What she wouldn't give for a bow, or even a proper sling. As fond as she was of her bastard sword, it was wholly ill-fit for the hunting of rabbits.
She was resting against the stump of an old tree when Azaran extended Deshimóh's handle towards her. She felt it before she even looked up, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end as it drew near. She repressed the urge to flinch as her eyes rested on the weapon, instead choosing to look closely at it for the first time. Studying its unique make, the barbs that hooked from its bladed edge. Anathema glanced up at Azaran's eyes, scanning for any potential sign of deceitful intent. A formality, really. The man had had plenty of opportunities to kill her at this point. She closed her hand around the handle, one finger wrapping around the haft at a time.
The taste of rust she had experienced back in the village crept back up into her mouth, more intensely this time. The hook was... warm. Much warmer than it should have been. It felt alive, as if the blade nested a thousand skittering insects just beneath the surface, threatening to burst from its obsidian depths and crawl across her skin. Every instinct in her body commanded her to cast the wicked thing into the sea.
But... it was still just a blade, really. Regardless of what divinity had once touched it, of what sins it carried within. At days end, it was just another unremarkable shard of metal, like any other.
She turned it over in her hands, the physical discomfort of the hook's proximity dissipating with time. "Curious craftsmanship. Seems as though it would make for an impractical weapon, but..." She waved the hook vaguely in Azaran's direction with a smirk. "All those 'impractical' techniques you just demonstrated have me feeling like I just went toe-to-toe with a Leviathan. Suppose I shouldn't be so quick to judge, eh?"
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Azaran the Wanderer
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 100
Age: Early 30s
Appearance: (Drawing commissioned, done by Griffith)
Azaran is roughly 5'7", with a muscular, athletic build. He has black hair, cut short to his head, along with a pair of purple eyes. His hair is usually hidden by his armored helmet, however, one with a star-esque face opening and black markings along the top of the head. He wears a purple sleeved shirt underneath a steel cuirass, with pauldrons going out over the shoulders. He wears tanned pants, as well as a pair of armored greaves.
Equipment: As well as his armor, Azaran carries with him few supplies, mainly a waterskin and a small pouch for some food and general supplies as he travels. To protect himself, however, he carries a basic heater shield and what seems to be a hook made out of black metal, sharpened to a short blade at the far end with sharp points on both ends, and a rounded point design on the back. Although it seems unassuming, it can also materialize what seems to be a translucent purple rope-like structure wrapping around the uppermost part of the hook, and extending out any length up to 20ft or so, with a barbed hook at the end. The rope seems extremely hard to break, and the hook seems to be sharp as a blade.
Skills and Abilities: Despite his hesitance to use it, Azaran is very skilled at fighting, and due to the copious amount of time he spends out in the wilderness he is an excellent survivalist, knowing how to spend weeks at a time on his own on travels between civilizations.
Biography: Growing up, Azaran Ðyáhmo lived in the lap of luxury, sheltered from the harsh realities of the rest of his people in the archipelago. His parents, Duke and Duchess of the region, kept him away from seeing that. However, as time went on, his curiosity got the better of him. One night, while his family was sleeping, he snuck out of the palace, to see the world outside. To his dismay, the people were struggling. His parents focused more on their party lives that the lives of the people they were supposed to serve. Disease ran rampant, people were starving in the streets, and bandits robbed in broad daylight. When he returned to his home in the early hours in the morning, he vowed to make his world a better place, one person at a time. He forsook his parents' name, and stole their most precious heirloom, the God Hook Déshimoh, whisking it away in the dead of night to wander the countryside, never staying in one place long, passing along the good fortunes of comradery to his people. Even after the flood destroyed everything, though, he didn't give up, and he plans to spread the same word around this world as well.
Registered: Apr 13, 2021 17:52:55 GMT -5
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Post by Azaran the Wanderer on Jun 3, 2022 11:02:44 GMT -5
While Azaran walked over to their supplies, he kept his eyes towards Anathema, watching her inspect the weapon. Anxious, he saw as she slowly turned it over in her hands, relief washing over him when he saw her own tension begin to relax. Thankfully it looked like she wouldn’t throw it in the river.
“Indeed, it can be quite impractical at times.” Azaran said as he brought them over, setting them beside where he had been sitting. “Such are the consequences of a design as otherwise…unorthodox as this one. However, it hides some interesting quirks beneath the surface, if you know where to look. May I?” He asked, holding out his hand.
When given back the hooked blade, Azaran would take a deep breath and hold it out in front of him. Focusing his mind on Deshimóh, he flicked it forwards slightly, only hoping that it would work this time and that the Mists hadn’t hindered it again. Upon the slight flick of the blade, a rope of purple light would flow from the apex of the hook, glowing as it formed all the way to the serrated, smaller hook attached to the end. He smiled, letting out a sigh of relief. “Indeed, it is never a good idea to be quick to judge. You never know what something may hide from sight.” He made the rope dissipate before he turned back towards Anathema, setting the weapon down. “I would say that makes up for not being able to stab, wouldn’t you?”
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Anathema
Committed
Roleplay posts: 51
Appearance: A tall, imposing demon woman with pale blue skin, yellow eyes, and curved horns that protrude backwards from her forehead. She wears her hair loose, reaching the base of her spine in length, and wears simple earth-toned vestments that suggest a modest lifestyle.
Equipment: Anathema's chief possession is her bastard sword, a heavy but otherwise unremarkable blade forged from good steel. Counted amongst the rest of of her belongings are a hunting knife and a pack containing various items useful for survival, as well as a small device of unknown origin.
Skills and Abilities: Anathema is adept both in martial combat and tactics. Her skill with a blade is bolstered by her demon strength, placing her physical ability above that of an average human.
Registered: Sept 9, 2021 22:36:23 GMT -5
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Post by Anathema on Jun 29, 2022 0:46:29 GMT -5
Her eyebrow raised with due caution at the display of the weapon's hidden properties - perhaps 'unremarkable' was an improper identifier after all. There was another twinge in her core at the sight of the thin violet strand, just the same as the feeling when she had first saw the hook in Azaran's hand on the beach. Prejudice and bias are forces not so easily dismantled - let alone, in a single day. Even if the blade and herself had indeed begun to hold each other with some semblance of cordiality, they still had work to do.
"Well, lets hope we don't have to find out," Anathema retorted with a smirk - though even as she said as much, she found a hollowness in her words. Historically, the promise of violence had never strayed too far from the oncoming future, even in the blank slate that was this island. For one reason or another, someone will always wants something that someone else has, and will be willing to fight to take it. Or, lacking a spine, one could just as easily pay for the service of another who is. Yes, Anathema would bet money that she would end up seeing that hook in action at some point. One way or another.
Even dropping the bout of self-pontification, there were probably beasts on this island who could tear her limb from limb. Her own personal vendettas aside, with her luck some ungodly wild animal was much more likely to get the drop on her before scheming sorcerer king had the opportunity. Perhaps, she considered, her view had grown too narrow in her solitude - failing to see the forest for the trees. Her eyes wandered to the shadows of the surrounding forest, wondering what hidden things lurked just beyond her periphery.
She shook the thought away for the time. The fatigue setting in certainly wasn't helping to alleviate this line of thought. She regarded Azaran, eyes growing heavy with the thought of rest. "Wake me when your watch has ended, then. Think I saw an inviting patch of dirt around here somewhere - best get acquainted with it, I think."
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Azaran the Wanderer
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 100
Age: Early 30s
Appearance: (Drawing commissioned, done by Griffith)
Azaran is roughly 5'7", with a muscular, athletic build. He has black hair, cut short to his head, along with a pair of purple eyes. His hair is usually hidden by his armored helmet, however, one with a star-esque face opening and black markings along the top of the head. He wears a purple sleeved shirt underneath a steel cuirass, with pauldrons going out over the shoulders. He wears tanned pants, as well as a pair of armored greaves.
Equipment: As well as his armor, Azaran carries with him few supplies, mainly a waterskin and a small pouch for some food and general supplies as he travels. To protect himself, however, he carries a basic heater shield and what seems to be a hook made out of black metal, sharpened to a short blade at the far end with sharp points on both ends, and a rounded point design on the back. Although it seems unassuming, it can also materialize what seems to be a translucent purple rope-like structure wrapping around the uppermost part of the hook, and extending out any length up to 20ft or so, with a barbed hook at the end. The rope seems extremely hard to break, and the hook seems to be sharp as a blade.
Skills and Abilities: Despite his hesitance to use it, Azaran is very skilled at fighting, and due to the copious amount of time he spends out in the wilderness he is an excellent survivalist, knowing how to spend weeks at a time on his own on travels between civilizations.
Biography: Growing up, Azaran Ðyáhmo lived in the lap of luxury, sheltered from the harsh realities of the rest of his people in the archipelago. His parents, Duke and Duchess of the region, kept him away from seeing that. However, as time went on, his curiosity got the better of him. One night, while his family was sleeping, he snuck out of the palace, to see the world outside. To his dismay, the people were struggling. His parents focused more on their party lives that the lives of the people they were supposed to serve. Disease ran rampant, people were starving in the streets, and bandits robbed in broad daylight. When he returned to his home in the early hours in the morning, he vowed to make his world a better place, one person at a time. He forsook his parents' name, and stole their most precious heirloom, the God Hook Déshimoh, whisking it away in the dead of night to wander the countryside, never staying in one place long, passing along the good fortunes of comradery to his people. Even after the flood destroyed everything, though, he didn't give up, and he plans to spread the same word around this world as well.
Registered: Apr 13, 2021 17:52:55 GMT -5
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Post by Azaran the Wanderer on Jun 29, 2022 22:21:08 GMT -5
Azaran nodded. “Indeed.” He knew it was only wishful thinking. As long as there are weapons, there will be a reason to use them. He was painfully aware of that.
He could see that Anathema was beginning to tire as she addressed him again. “Of course. Enjoy your rest Anathema.” He smiled, before throwing another stick on the fire. He stood and stretched, before casting his view to the forest around them. Quiet. Peaceful.
For at least the next few hours, that’s how it would continue. Azaran would stand near the fire, keeping it going at a dimmer level than when both were awake, while he watched their surroundings, listening for any signs of danger. But nothing came. After a while, he sat again, casting a glance to the blue demoness traveling with him. He frowned. He could tell she had been through so much even before the Endwaters came. She had been at the receiving end of so much pain, so much suffering. She had given just as much in return from what he heard from her, her reaction indicating each stab went through her own heart too. Then, just as she escaped, she found herself at the end of the world, surrounded by strangers. And her first reaction was to fight. And every action after that has been fighting against that. He sighed as he turned back to the fire.
Azaran wondered if her company was a good idea…no, he wondered if his company was a good idea for her. It kept replaying in his head, that scene. His attempts to help only serving to further hurt them. Tearing open wounds as he tried to stitch them shut. Talking them down, only to end up with a sword at his throat. A parry, a plea. An attack in rage. A hooking motion, stopping right before the end. An attempt at mercy taken advantage of. A kick.
Right into the blade behind his neck.
Azaran blinked, then cast his eyes downwards. This wasn’t about Anathema anymore, and he knew it. His mind had wandered. It wandered to the same place it did every night since. He just sat there, listening to the fire in another attempt to escape the memories. Crackle. Pop. Snap.
His head jolted up. That twig snapping wasn’t in the fire. It was in the woods. He quickly grabbed his blade and shield, knowing he wouldn’t have time to don his armor. He quickly scanned the surrounding woods, looking for any sign of what might have caused the sound. He saw nothing but blackness.
“Anathema.” He said, his voice stern and guarded. “You need to get up,” Something shot out of the darkness, only barely missing Azaran’s head as the spiked end lodged into a tree behind him, attached to some sort of long, wet appendage. Just as soon as it shot out, it went back, returning to just below a pair of eyes glowing red in the low firelight. “Anathema! Something is attacking us!”
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Anathema
Committed
Roleplay posts: 51
Appearance: A tall, imposing demon woman with pale blue skin, yellow eyes, and curved horns that protrude backwards from her forehead. She wears her hair loose, reaching the base of her spine in length, and wears simple earth-toned vestments that suggest a modest lifestyle.
Equipment: Anathema's chief possession is her bastard sword, a heavy but otherwise unremarkable blade forged from good steel. Counted amongst the rest of of her belongings are a hunting knife and a pack containing various items useful for survival, as well as a small device of unknown origin.
Skills and Abilities: Anathema is adept both in martial combat and tactics. Her skill with a blade is bolstered by her demon strength, placing her physical ability above that of an average human.
Registered: Sept 9, 2021 22:36:23 GMT -5
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Post by Anathema on Jul 19, 2022 0:44:56 GMT -5
“Anathema.”
Often now, Anathema viewed her dreams through a viridian lens - fleeting images, refracted a thousand times over through the facets of a cracked emerald. There was a girl looking up at her, through the glass confines of her prison. Auburn hair. Big, bright eyes. Scanning. Thinking. Arriving at conclusions that her mind would not allow her to accept. It wasn't her fault. They were actors playing out the same tired role, in a story that had been passed down enough times that it had lost its meaning entirely. Children, hands stained with blood, starved for a flicker of pride behind the cold, uncaring eyes of those who held their leash.
“You need to get up.”
She hoped the girl drowned in the flood. It would be a kindness compared to the fate of her predecessors.
“Anathema!"
She awoke with a start, fingernails cutting into the palms of her hands. She opened her mouth, disoriented, to ask a question - only a fraction of a second before the dart screamed past Azaran's head with a sickening, wet sound. In an instant, Anathema's expression steeled, banishing every unnecessary thought and emotion from the forefront of her mind. It was a practiced switch - from person, to weapon.
Her sword found its way to her hands, hefted up in a guarding position. She wasn't certain she could block a direct hit from... whatever that was, but it was her best option until she could see the damn thing. Her eyes scanned the tree line, and - there. Red eyes, reflected by the light of the fire pit.
"Flank left!" The demon roared, tearing off into a sprint of her own towards the right. This distance, with that projectile - the bastard had them pinned down. First lesson of facing down an opponent at range - stop moving, you die. Azaran got lucky, once - she wasn't pushing their luck that it would happen again.
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