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 Jul 25, 2022 23:32:11 GMT -5
Azaran didn’t respond. In a fight like this, extra words would be a burden. Instead he rushed left, not stopping as he whipped his shield around to block another attack. The spiked assault left a deep score down his shield as it glanced off, retracting again before Azaran could get a chance to slice at whatever attached it to this beast.
After that attack it would turn to the quickly approaching Anathema, giving a low, guttural growl. In response to the approach it would leap out at her, revealing the silhouette of a deformed, monstrous wolf as it opened its foul jaw, row upon row upon row of teeth aiming to tear at the warrior’s throat.
Azaran at the time was too far away to do anything about the situation except close in further. As he approached his sprint slowed to a run, then a jog. He could feel his heart sinking deep into his stomach. Not because of the attack on Anathema mind you, he knew she could handle the nightmare of a wolf.
The one nightmare of a wolf.
Azaran could see more eyes catch the fire’s reflection behind it. One, maybe two pairs. He glanced behind him. Three, four, even more he didn’t dare take the time to count. Unfortunately for them this thing wasn’t alone.
It brought its pack.
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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 28, 2022 7:14:30 GMT -5
Azaran's distraction gave Anathema enough time to approach the abomination without being skewered, but not quite enough time to get the jump on it. It reared its head at the demon, rows of wicked teeth poised to rend her flesh like scissors into paper. She dodged the first attack, backing into the trunk of a tree as it readied its second. With nowhere left to run, she blocked the open maw of the beast with the only thing available to her. She hefted her sword up to bar its advance, steadying the blade against the corners of its maw with both hands. Anathema felt blood spill at the edges of her palm holding the flat of the blade in place as the wolf thrashed violently against the makeshift muzzle, bare flesh against her own steel.
It was a bad place for a fight. Even on the edge of this clearing, the tree line prevented her from swinging her blade in a full sideways arc. And, even if she did gain the upper hand, she would have to rely on thrusts and downward strokes as long as the fight belonged to these damned woods. This was the exact reason why the legion sought to raze forests like this to the ground before an imminent battle.
As she struggled to hold her ground, Anathema saw the rotten innards of the monster's throat begin to contract and convulse. She could only guess as to what that could mean, deciding that it was time to disengage. Her eyes narrowed, muscles tensing before swiping the wolf through the corners of its mouth and dodging to the side.
Just in time, she thought, as its tongue lanced into the tree she was just pressed against. She wasted no time, remembering how quickly it retracted. In a flash of steel, her sword came down hard and fast on the vile thing, severing the tongue from its body. The wolf reared back and shrieked in pain, a hoarse, hollow sound that made her skin crawl.
Anathema pressed the advantage. Swiveling the sword point-first, the demon plunged her blade forward with all her might. Vile, rotten blood sprayed from the beast's throat where the blade connected, spearing it cleanly through the other side. As the blade withdrew, the horrid thing collapsed onto the ground, writhing painfully, all the while raspy, inhuman noises escaped its maw in a nightmarish swan song.
She wasn't afforded the privilege of watching it die. Barely having bested the first wolf, Anathema was caught unaware by the additional tongue lancing forth from the deep woods, catching her in the leg. Blue blood began to run from the would in her thigh as the demon gripped her sword tightly, backing away with dread from the advancing onslaught.
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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 Jul 28, 2022 20:34:15 GMT -5
Another tongue would lance out at Anathema from the other direction, aiming squarely for the center of her back. Thankfully, Azaran was close enough to get his shield in the way in time, hitting the tongue away at an off angle and making it miss entirely. Taking the chance, Azaran brought his hook up and quickly intertwined it with the tongue, forcing it downwards and towards him with all his might. It began to shear at the skin of the tongue before finding good purchase, dragging the wolf to the ground as Azaran stepped on the tongue and ripped upwards, severing it. He steps back, ending up nearly back to back with Anathema. “I counted at least a half dozen.” He told her as he watched for more attacks. “Likely there are at least a few more if I had to guess.”
The wolf that Azaran had just liberated of its tongue struggled to its feet, letting out a low, gurgling growl before rushing at the two. As he approached he went into a pounce, lunging for Azaran.
The wandering warrior lifted his shield to block, but the force of the strike had him ending up on his back, barely holding back the powerful maw of the beast with his shield as its claws raked into his shoulders trying to find purchase. Azaran grunted as he threw it off of him, swiftly bringing the hook behind the wolf’s neck as he followed through with a kick, forcing the wolf into the blade as it was pulled up into the back of its neck, the edge shimmering purple as it cut through. It would take another kick before the head was fully separated from the body.
Azaran resisted the urge to wretch at the sight. No matter how many times it never became easier to see, let alone to smell. He brings back up his guard, readying himself for another attack. “Do you have a plan?” He asked Anathema. “Personally, I have yet to think of one.”
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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 Aug 2, 2022 18:59:30 GMT -5
Anathema rushed to defend Azaran at the sight of the wolf pinning him, but found that her path was blocked by yet another of its pack. Back in the clearing now - the devil swung her sword in a wide arc, catching the monster in the flank, and following the maneuver with a swift kick to its ribcage. It routed, retreating to the outer circle of the pack. An insignificant victory, she thought, as the remainder of the horde began to surround them. They approached slowly, now. Menacingly - as if the horrid things wanted Azaran and Anathema's terror to swell to a crescendo before they fed. She could see now, with more relief than she had anticipated, that Azaran had survived his skirmish. He held that hook, glowing a faint purple and dripping with viscous, blackened blood. She approached her companion, helping him back to his feet. The two stood once again with their backs against one another, backlit by the campfire that continued to sputter behind them.
"My plan was to get the hell out of here." Anathema grunted. "Don't think that's gonna work out anymore."
There were too many of them. The second the pack elected to stop toying with them, it would be over in an instant. She brandished her sword aloft in front of her as if she were a priest wielding a censer, attempting to ward off... well. Her.
She squinted. Actually, that gave her an idea. Nightmare spawn or no, these things were still animals. And, almost universally, animals responded to one specific thing.
---
"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.”
---
Anathema reached behind her, hefting a sizable piece of still-burning firewood from the pit - a branch, about two feet long. It was hot to the touch, flames licking the top of the hand that held it, but the pain was inconsequential compared to the fate that may await them otherwise. She held it against the wolves waving it against their numbers as purposefully as she would wield her blade.
A torch.
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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 Aug 11, 2022 19:30:26 GMT -5
Azaran took her hand and stood, wincing at the pain in his recently opened shoulders. “Unfortunately I have to agree.” He responded, turning his back to hers and holding his shield in front of him as he looked around.
They were highly outnumbered, and the animals had an advantage in range as well as numbers, not to mention the fact that they could see Azaran and Anathema, while the inverse wasn’t nearly as reliable. He adjusted his grip, trying as best as he might to find an opening, a falter, something he could do to make it through this, but no good options seemed available.
He saw the movement behind him, turning his head slightly to get a better view as Anathema went to reach into the fire, baffling him completely. “Anathema, what are y-” He stops, realizing as she began to wave the flaming stick around, causing the encroaching beasts to halt, They growled an angry growl as they began to circle once again, though their inward movement had ceased. “Good thinking.” Azaran said. “Now if we just-”
Once again, he was cut off by a spiked tongue flying directly at him. He brought up his shield to block, stopping the spike as it pierced the steel and was lodged within it. Before it could retract(likely taking his shield with it), Azaran reached up and slashed the tongue end off, causing the wolf to yelp in pain as the rest of the tongue drew back. Quickly though, another tongue would come at him from the other side, ripping a gash in his side while he was distracted, causing him to fall to one knee in shock. Even without being able to get closer right now, it seemed they weren’t ready to give up the fight..
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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 Aug 29, 2022 20:08:08 GMT -5
A snarl escaped Anathema's curled lips. Cowards. Denied the thrill of the hunt, it seemed that the wolves would instead settle for a death by a thousand cuts. Flame in hand, she felt confident that she could break the siege, brandishing the torch in front of her in order cut a path through that dense jungle of matted fur and gnashing teeth. But then what? Could they really outpace the wolves? Hope that their horde would not follow them out of these woods? It was far too many maybe's for her liking.
In the Legion, there was protocol for quelling a force that far outnumbered your own. It was a stretch - these were animals, after all - but they had displayed a concerning degree of intelligence thus far. Maybe they would be insightful enough to understand the message. That message being: What do you do when you need to crush the hope of a group that has taken up arms against you?
Make an example of them.
"They're shy." She quipped at Azaran - though her steely expression made her focus self-evident. "Lets give them a hand."
Defiantly, Anathema pierced her sword into the soft earth below. One hand held the torch, the other suspended aloft with an open palm. She steadied her breathing, aligned her stance. Living Water. She squinted, scanning the trees for the next opening - There!
The next tongue sprang forward into the clearing. Anathema sidestepped, feeling the force of the attack as it passed by her. With her free hand, she gripped the appendage as tight as she could, sinking her nails into the sickly wet flesh.
"Here, you craven." She sneered. "Lets play a game."
A wicked smile began to creep across Anathema's face as she pulled. Hard. The sudden unexpected force yanked the beast clear off its feet and tumbling to the ground. It writhed the whole way as she dragged it towards her, never given a chance to regain its footing. It pitched and writhed like a fish on a line, trying in vain to escape its destiny at the end of a sailor's knife. Anathema reeled the last of the wolf's tongue to her, finally appraising the thing for what it was - a cur. And a wretched one, at that.
"Pathetic."
Anathema stabbed the torch deep inside the belly of the beast. Its gut caught fire much quicker than she had anticipated, like dry paper. The monster howled, wrenching its face away from the demon in agony, but her grip only tightened on the tongue of the beast, as did her grip forcing the flame deeper within the beast's innards. The fire spread within its body, flames erupting from its mouth and melting its black eyes into jelly from the inside out.
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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 Aug 31, 2022 22:47:56 GMT -5
Azaran watched the circling figures of the wolves, waiting for another strike. The longer this went on, the more he began to wonder if this may be it. If he’d led Anathema right into a gruesome death. They had only been able to take out a handful, and he was already barely in a condition to fight. At this point, he was out of ideas.
Hearing Anathema talk, Azaran was shaken from his dour thoughts. Yes, they’d give them a hand. They’d make sure this wasn’t the end, and even if it was that they wouldn’t be the only losers in tonight's encounter. He struggled back to his feet and nodded to her, his side bringing too much pain to speak. He waited. The forest felt silent for an eternity of a moment. Breathe in. Breathe out. Wait for an opportunity.
Suddenly the tongue would burst from the woods, He’d move out of the way, reaching for it…only to be beaten to the punch by Anathema. He stepped off to the side as he watched her drag the beast into the clearing, giving a clear view of its wretched, writhing form. It startled him, how it moved. The dangerous, powerful beast, seemingly brought to fear. But more than that.
Her smile. She looked like she was enjoying this.
Azaran stood frozen as he saw her pull the monster towards her, until finally, it stopped. And she plunged the fire deep into its gullet.
He looked away. The sounds it made were already too much on their own.
For a few moments after its horrid yowls slowed to a halt, the flame was the only sound in the forest. The lancing tongues had stopped, and the glowing eyes in the darkness halted in their paths. Two by two, the reflected flames would fall away. Until finally, The only other living thing in the clearing with Azaran was Anathema.
For another moment, he did not speak. He didn’t know what to say.
“...Could you stoke the fire please, Anathema?” He eventually said, his voice so low as to almost be drowned out by the crackling fuel of the fire. He went over to his bag and started to rummage through, until he finally retrieved his teapot and began to make his way over towards the river. “We should clean our wounds before they get infected.”
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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 Sept 2, 2022 21:57:11 GMT -5
Anathema's breathing seemed to echo across the clearing, the adrenaline of the fight finally beginning to subside. Soot and bile coated her arm up to her elbow, still clutching the now-sputtering torch. She had done it. Saved them, both of them. She turned to Azaran, with readied words of celebration - but as soon as she saw the expression he wore, the pride welling in her breast began to match the fleeting flicker of her torchlight. Her own face met his with confusion, eyebrows furrowing, her lips still drawing labored breath from her lungs.
"Stoke the... I..." She managed through the weight of it all. But he was already gone. Taken his teapot and left. Not a trace of warmth in his voice - it was jarring. Even on the beach, when she had brandished a blade against him, Azaran still hadn't spoken to her with such hollowness.
But she understood, didn't she? He only tolerated her because he didn't yet know her. Now he does, and now he'll leave. Just like he should have in the first place, in all honesty. Had her delusions truly guided her to the hope that she could be worthy of something as mundane as companionship? In all likelihood, he wasn't even coming back to the campsite. Or, even better - Maybe, he only left to steel himself before coming back to strike her down. She was vulnerable enough. The poor man - he had been foolish enough to convince himself that Anathema wasn't the monster she appeared to be. And now, in one fell swoop, she had dragged each of his unspoken doubts and fears into the light. Time to put the monster down. How fitting.
"...Shit."
She watch the flames of the torch rise up its length, spreading to the haft and licking at her fingertips. She felt the fire burn her skin. For a bit too long, she let it. And then, with a newfound hollowness all her own, Anathema dropped the torch back into the pit. And waited.
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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 Sept 3, 2022 23:13:35 GMT -5
The slow current of the waters filled Azaran’s ears as he approached, all but collapsing to his knee as he knelt down to fill the teapot with water. He tried to focus on the shimmer of weak moonlight on the water, but it kept replaying in his head. The beast’s scramblings. Her smile. A smile twisted in perverse glee. In the pleasure of the kill.
He steadied his breath. Surely…surely he’d misread, right? The low light might’ve been playing tricks on his eyes. The heat of battle may have just worn on his mind, right? He saw it play again.
No. As much as he wished so, no.
Again and again, he saw it. Until he didn’t. Until he saw someone ragged and worn on the shore, lowering her guard to him. Until he saw someone clawing away the symbol that haunted her past, someone eagerly learning how to redirect a punch instead of return with one of her own. Someone who, even alone in this forest, far from anyone else they were aware of, sat with him around a campfire, talking with him while she held his only good defense against her.
That was her too.
He struggled to his feet, holding the full teapot in his hand. What he saw tonight…it didn’t matter. It didn’t need addressing. They just needed to sit and rest after what they’d been through. He winced. And dress their wounds. That was pretty important.
Soon enough, Azaran would return to the light of the fire, before setting the pot on the flames to let the water boil. He went back towards his bag and began rummaging though it again. He stopped for a moment, making a point to turn back towards Anathema. He tried to look her in the eyes, but he averted his gaze. He still couldn't. Despite that though he still smiled. It was obvious he was still a little shaken. But it was obvious he was genuine. Or at least he hoped it was.
“I should have enough bandages to cover our wounds, but I do not believe I have anything for your burn.” He said to her, before turning back towards his bag. “I do hope that’s alright. We can still clean and dress it, but the pain will likely remain for a time.”
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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 Sept 7, 2022 19:35:22 GMT -5
Anathema didn't turn to face Azaran as he returned - she hardly moved at all. She had let allowed the numbness to set in, an invitation to whatever followed. Watched him set the kettle on the fire. Her eyes flicked up minutely every so often, searching for any indication of Azaran's mood between bouts of shame. He still wouldn't meet her eyes, but... was that a smile? That same primal unease pervaded the clearing like a bad odor, but here he was - putting on a brave face.
Anathema understood much about Azaran in that small exchange. To go against one's own nature - such a thing makes for a difficult feat. She thought she was the only one pretending to be something she wasn't. Or, something she didn't want to be. But now... through the eyes of the mask she wore to hide from the world, she could just begin to pick out the imperfections. Holes in the facade that told her the truth: Azaran wore a mask too.
She didn't realize it until then, not truly. He wasn't just like that by default - he was trying, just the same as her. Trying to understand, trying to forget unfortunate lessons he had learned so long ago. Listening to his mind, rather than his heart. Or, was it the other way around? She was never sure.
A familiar floral scent wafted from Azaran's bag as he rummaged through it. What did he call it? something with a C. She couldn't remember. To her surprise, Anathema felt a slight smile creep into her face. This ridiculous old man and his tea.
"I'll live." She replied softly, but a little less numb. She reached a hand forward to stoke the fire, making sure the boiling water was well taken care of. "Lets see to your wounds first. You took some bad hits back there."
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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 Sept 8, 2022 1:17:51 GMT -5
Azaran fished out a roll of cloth, relatively clean, and set it on top of the log he had been using as a seat before. “That isn’t necessary. Really they aren’t that ba-” He winced in pain, unable to even complete the sentence. He let out a sigh. “Perhaps that is for the best, as much as it pains me to say. Although, I guess that is what I get for taking off the armor.” He let out a slightly forced chuckle, before wincing again from the pain it caused.
He inspected the wound on one of his shoulders, before prodding at the remains of the shirt that had once covered it. “Well, I believe this was my last good shirt as well. Truly a shame.” He struggled up to sit upon the log once again, waiting for the water to boil. “I doubt we would find any purple fabric in this new world to fix it. With how uncommon it was in the old world it will probably be years before it can be made here.”
His smile faltered, if only for a moment, while he stared into the fire. How funny, how something as inane as a color could remind him of what once was. Of the idea of a family he thought he had.
The noise from the kettle broke Azaran from his musings. Carefully, he used his hook to catch the handle and lift it from the fire, setting it to the side to cool for a moment. Something told him that putting boiling water onto his wounds would do more harm to him than good.
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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 Sept 19, 2022 11:58:48 GMT -5
Humans. So particular about every little thing. She had wondered about Azaran's affinity for the color - it was one of the reasons she mistook him for a knight during their first meeting. It was rare to see someone bearing so much of one shade without it implying devotion to something - a noble house, a kingdom, an order. Especially purple - for whatever reason, it seemed as though the luxury of that particular dye was a constant across a majority of the worlds she saw in her campaigns. More often than not, it was reserved for the nobility that she had on occasion helped depose.
Still, they all had their small comforts. And Anathema was making an effort not to judge.
"You never know." She shrugged. "Plenty of weird plants around here. Stick something resembling blackberries in that kettle of yours and take a bath in the stuff. More purple than you'd know what to do with."
She stood, took some of the cloth Azaran had supplied, and wetted it with a bit of the water from the kettle once it had a chance to cool. Anathema knelt in front of Azaran, pressing the heated cloth against the wound in his shoulder. "You were lucky. Looks bad, but it didn't catch anything important."
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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 Oct 2, 2022 18:32:55 GMT -5
“That is true.” Azaran said. “If this land could have something as strange as those creatures, a cheap purple dye cannot be entirely out of the question.” He started to stare at the few wolf remains scattered in the clearing, partially obscured by the shadows of night. First to the one Anathema had melted from inside out, before turning to the one further off. The one he had decapitated with a hook and a kick.
A familiar scenario. He looked back at the fire.
He winced as Anathema began to treat his wounds. Partially from her touch, but mostly from the pain the wounds caused. “That’s a relief to hear. With how much they pain me to move I had almost assumed it hit a major point.”
For another moment he remained quiet, his eyes glancing back up at the beasts’ remains. “Sometimes, I find myself wondering what it is that separates us from them.” He said, almost as if just thinking aloud. “How it is that we are able to do so much, able to communicate and domesticate and build, all while the monsters and animals of the forest…can’t. What is it that sets us apart? I remember once reading that some scientific mind suggested it to be that we have physical differences that set us apart. Our stature, our thumbs. Our ability to hold tools. Many religions I have seen suggest that the gods themselves chose us. I’m not sure either of those quite answer the question for me, though.” Azaran went quiet again, before glancing back at Anathema. “What do you think?”
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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 Oct 10, 2022 13:41:03 GMT -5
She laughed a bit at that. "If my people are the chosen of the Gods, then the Gods have a better sense of humor than I'd been giving them credit for."
Anathema gave the question an unusual amount of thought. "I think you and I are closer to a beast than a human would care to admit. Far closer to a beast than to a God, at the least." Anathema finished bandaging Azaran's wound, tying it off in a tight knot before joining him on the makeshift bench. She followed his gaze to the mangled bodies of the monsters that stretched out before them.
"Beast and person alike - our struggles take different shapes, but they are only ever variations on a theme. Especially here. There are no villages, no towering cities to carry the illusion that we're anything more than our basest instincts. Wolf and man alike struggle for the same caves. The same streams - the same hunt."
It wasn't like her to wax poetic like this. It wasn't the way of her people - philosophizing about the nature of existence and sentience was a topic best left to the so-called 'scholars' of Gehenna. But she was tired. A fatigue not just of the body, but of the spirit. The words fell out of her mouth without resistance, without the weight of her own internal inhibitions to stop them.
"Maybe... maybe all that sets us apart is a dream of something more. Good or ill. A wolf doesn't want to build a city. Doesn't want to build an empire or change the world. At the end of the day, all it wants is to keep breathing. Nobody, human or demon, is ever content with the lot they're given. We always want more."
Was that true? Then, what is it that she wanted? For a while - a long while - the only thing Anathema wanted to do was to keep moving. She had been that mindless, frightened animal, stalking only what was in front and lashing out at what she didn't understand. Until that final moment, when death finally decided that her time on these earths had concluded.
She wasn't sure, now. Being that blood-starved beast... in many ways, it was easier. With it came the benefit of not having to come face to face with this kind of reckoning. The benefit of hiding away that persistent, nagging desire to feel.
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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 Oct 13, 2022 15:53:49 GMT -5
Azaran would stay silent while Anathema talked. Once she sat down he’d take her hand and begin treating the burn the best he could, stewing over her words while he worked. He could tell this wasn’t something she thought about often. And yet, her words about it resonated with him. Here especially, people were much closer to the animals of the forest than they would like to believe most of the time. Without their walls or their armaments, humanity had on its mind only survival. Only finding the next meal. He’d seen it time and time and time again.
He finished cleaning the burn to his best ability before getting out the bandages to begin wrapping it. “What a good way of putting it.” He replied. “In my mind, I thought of the difference as the ability to will change into being. Making a house from wood and stone, turning steel into a shield or a blade. Working together with another to go from enemy to friend.” He paused. “That power to take what the past has given us and build it up or tear it down until we have made it into something entirely new. That power to make something into something new. To make ourselves what we want, rather than what we were supposed to be. But as you said, what is that ability without that drive to use it? One would not build a castle if they didn’t wish to use it. One could not give themself a new destiny if they did not dream of one other than what was handed to them.”
For another moment, Azaran let the unasked question linger in the air. He finished tying the bandage around Anathema’s wound, then moved on to cleaning the other hand, before he finally asked. “If that’s the case Anathema, I hope you won’t mind my asking. What is it that you dream for? What is your something more?”
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