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Post by Songs of the Mists on Dec 2, 2022 20:45:55 GMT -5
 A secluded vale just shy of the northern lake. The quiet of these gentle woodlands is broken only by the sounds of rushing water, as several tiered falls bear their water to the sea to the southeast. Somewhere to the north, over the cliffs and far away, rises the unmistakable sight of smoke. |
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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 Dec 2, 2022 21:02:36 GMT -5
Surely, the Gods must have been drunk when designing the realms of men. What other excuse could there be for every stretch of land she'd been made to endure since leaving her people to be so full of these blasted trees?
Don't get her wrong - she was fine with the things. It wasn't as though Zythiri lands lacked them, and they certainly served a purpose. Some of them even bore fruit, which Anathema personally considered herself to be a big fan of. It was just... where was the biodiversity? It was trees, always trees. Hills, rivers, sometimes even a mountain. If they were lucky. She and Azaran had been walking for a few days now, and Anathema hadn't seen a single river of souls, no plains of scattered ash - hellfrost, she couldn't remember the last time she had seen a geothermal vent!
"Don't you ever get tired of this? You would think that your gods only had blue and green crayons in their box to color this whole crummy plane with." Anathema groaned. The demon swatted some buzzing pest away from her face, cursing quietly in her native tongue. "Actually, scratch that - knowing the Gods, they probably ate the rest of them. Spoiled brats."
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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 Dec 7, 2022 0:33:22 GMT -5
Azaran chuckled slightly, brushing a bug away from his neck. “I find it quite relaxing, honestly.” He said to Anathema. “They might not be the most visually interesting thing out there, but the trees have so much to offer that I tend not to mind.”
Breaking off a branch that blocked his path, he took another moment to take in the environment. All around, shades of green and brown, the occasional yellow of a wilting plant. He frowned, scratching at his chin. “Although…I must admit you have a point. Before the Endwaters, I had seen deserts with sand like gold, or mountains of pure marble. Here, either we just have yet to reach those lands, or they were washed away with the world.”
A spire of white quickly caught Azaran’s eye. Upon inspecting further, it became obvious that it was another tree. He walked up to it and plucked some of its leaves, before stripping some of the papery bark away from the trunk. “Though if you look in the right spot, you can find some specks of color in the sea of green.” He set his new prizes within his bag, amongst whatever other plants of interest he seemed to find over the past few days. He turned back to his traveling companion. “And to be honest, I will take a sea of green over that endless gray we crossed to get here, wouldn’t you agree?”
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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 Dec 21, 2022 0:32:12 GMT -5
Anathema grumbled back some variant of 'I guess.' She found herself wondering, not for the first time, which lesser deity Azaran had bribed in order to have the wilderness ever at his beck and call, for the sole purpose of adding emphasis to his metaphors.
He had a point, though. And those mountains had taken a lot more out of her than she was expecting. It wasn't that she was out of shape, but... hellfrost, maybe she was. A rich woman's toy boat and a glorified test tube were far from promising environments for one to retain their muscle mass.
She stopped at the edge of a clearing, forested hills continuing to the north some distance. A medium-sized waterfall filled the glade with the gentle sound of rushing water, and sunlight filtered more easily through the canopy here. If Anathema cared about the sort of thing, she might have considered it picturesque. Instead, she elected to survey the area for threats. Smoke, rising above the lip of the tree line - another settlement, she would wager.
"Let us rest here, for a moment. Refill our waterskins, rest our feet." Anathema sloughed her pack off, stabbed her sword into the soft silt below, and collapsed to the ground, her back propped up against a large stone. "I think I can still hear those mountains laughing at us from here."
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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 Dec 31, 2022 18:21:31 GMT -5
At the suggestion of a break, Azaran almost immediately dropped cross-legged to the ground, taking off the strap to his bag and leaning back on his palms. He took a deep, slow breath as he rested his aching legs. “That sounds like a great idea.” He agreed. “After that trek, I think I can still feel them hitting us, to be honest.”
In all of his travels, Azaran could count on a single hand the amount of times he had climbed mountains. He could count the amount of times he enjoyed the climb on half. In truth, he much preferred to simply go around them, enjoying the vistas nestled in the foothills instead, much like this one.
A slight breeze passed by, and Azaran took the chance to simply feel it brush over his face. It was pleasant. Everything here was pleasant, actually. The sounds of rushing water, the dappled sunlight, the chirping of the birds. Even the smoke rising over the trees.
Especially the smoke rising over the trees. Azaran smiled. “There must be a campfire nearby. I would assume a settlement, personally, just from the size. I’m glad to see we picked a good direction.”
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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 Jan 17, 2023 16:35:17 GMT -5
"Mm - I should quite say so."
The voice didn't come from Anathema. A lanky man in tattered leather emerged from the thicket, shiv gripped tightly in hand. At the same time, two more bushes began to rustle, as two more figures of similar stature emerged. One held a thick club that might at one point have been a ship's mast, and the other wielded a pale approximation of a bow made of splintering driftwood. Each of the would-be highwaymen regarded their quarry with guarded expressions, and twitching eyes.
"Lovely little sun spot for a catnap, don't you reckon?" The man with the shiv said. He passed the blade to and fro between his hands with exaggerated bravado, grinning a toothy smile. "You wouldn't keep all that sunshine for yourselves, would you now?"
"Sharing is caring, ain't that right boss?" muttered the woman with the club, a barely contained frenzy dwelling just below the surface. A cold glare from the group's face was enough to silence her.
Anathema froze. Her sword was still stuck in the ground, just out of reach. If she made a move for it now, she risked catching an arrow in the shoulder (assuming that rickety thing didn't snap in half outright). These untrained, pathetic buffoons weren't worth the dulling of her steel - but they, like any other man or beast, still had the capacity for harm. And they had the two of them where they wanted them.
She remained calm, keeping her body language relaxed and meeting the bandit's gaze. She glanced across the clearing at Azaran, raising a weary, unamused eyebrow as if to say; "Any ideas?"
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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 Jan 23, 2023 14:54:13 GMT -5
Azaran’s eyes quickly flicked between their new visitors. They looked like starved animals, eyeing up their next meal.
He shifted his sitting position, raising up one knee and resting his arm atop it. He smiled at the one that the lady called boss. “Quite.” He agreed. “You all seem quite ragged from your journeys as well. Do you care to sit? I’d quite like to hear what’s led you all here.” He gestured loosely in front of him with the hand hanging from his knee. To their guests, he might have seemed quite relaxed.
Warrior that she is though, Anathema might have noticed the tension in his bent leg, like a loaded spring ready to push him away at a moment’s notice, should the need arise. Or his other hand, before simply resting on the handle of his weapon on the ground, slowly and carefully curling around to grip it. He was giving them a chance, trying to deescalate the situation. But he would put up a fight if that’s what they wanted.
Azaran glanced back at Anathema, then nodded, as if to tell her; Just follow my lead.
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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 Feb 1, 2023 23:17:07 GMT -5
Anathema squinted at Azaran. It was only due to the fact that she had been traveling with him for this long that she didn't immediately think him mad. Delusional though he may be, she did believe Azaran understood that talking things through couldn't solve every problem. The tension in his leg was evidence of that much - like a cat, laying a trap by exposing its soft underbelly to an unsuspecting child.
Or demon. Anathema would never trust a cat again for as long as she lived. Creatures of pure evil.
She gritted her teeth and held back a sigh. Fine, old man. We'll do it your way.
It took the bandits a moment for Azaran's reply to sink in. The woman seemed especially confused, her mouth fluctuating between a maddened smile and a perplexed grimace. The stout man with the bow said nothing, instead looking to the leader for guidance. Their faces read as clear as day: "Isn't this the part where they're supposed to be begging for their lives?"
The de-facto leader just turned his mouth down in a frown, unamused. Just as one of the others was about to answer Azaran's question, he cut her off.
"We'll stand, thanks," The man said, shaking his head. "Look.I'll give you the benefit of the doubt, alright? Maybe you really are just that bone-dead stupid." He raised his shiv, leveling it directly in Azaran's direction. "We ain't here for chit-chat, fancy pants. You lot are gonna give us your supplies and valuables. And if you play nice, you might - might - get to leave, without me and my friends here guttin' you. Savvy?"
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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 Feb 20, 2023 17:34:28 GMT -5
Azaran understood Anathema’s apprehension towards his approach. These people were dangerous, brandishing what could generously be described as weapons at the pair, threatening their lives simply to get their possessions. However, Azaran hoped these were people who could see reason. If not, perhaps they could at least see an unfair fight.
He stayed calm as the leading man spoke down to him, never letting his smile falter. Once he’d finished, Azaran responded.
“I would hesitate to say stupid.” He spoke. “Perhaps just optimistic. You all seem like quite reasonable people, the kind that may be able to see how needless violence is here.”
The shiv caught his eye. A small weapon. If anything happened Azaran would have to block the arm itself. A shame, really, he was hoping not to draw blood. His eyes turned back to the man holding it, his face now bearing a more serious form.
“Please, sit with us. I can put on some drinks and I, at the very least, would be willing to share with you what you may need until we reach the next settlement. We don’t need to resort to blades. We do not wish to fight you.”
And you do not want to fight us. It went unsaid. Such words would be seen as an insult, or perhaps a challenge, rather than the warning they were. Azaran could tell these three were not warriors. Their stances, their supplies, their demeanors, they all screamed it. But he knew what he was capable of, and he knew what Anathema was capable of. No accidents needed to happen today. These were people, not wolves.
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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 3, 2023 19:55:51 GMT -5
There was a flicker in the man's eye as Azaran's demeanor bared its fangs, however briefly. Doubt.
But another sentiment, that sentiment being pride, came just as easily to dismiss that doubt. This was a man with a chip on his shoulder, a man with something to prove. And most importantly, a man with an audience. Already he could feel the eyes of his crew boring a hole into his back, waiting for him to act. Trusting him to lead them.
No. He wouldn’t be made a fool of. Not before first blood was even drawn, and especially not by some wannabe noble without a real weapon. Or his pet demon. The man smirked, his decision made before he even reckoned with the notion that he had a choice to begin with.
"Dont much blame you. I wouldn't want to fight us neither."
The man lunged with his shiv. It was sloppy. Crude. Easily predictable.
He never stood a chance.
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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 12, 2023 21:03:32 GMT -5
If he’d had the time, Azaran would have sighed. Pride always was the folly of man, was it not?
Instead, he released the tension in his leg, pushing into a backwards roll that left him out of the lunge’s original range, as well as in a sturdy stance on his two feet and a hand. Just as soon as his feet touched the ground again, he leapt forwards himself, blocking the incoming strike with his hooked blade. Just as soon as the black metal of his weapon had pushed the man’s extended arm out of the way, he circled it around his arm, catching it with the wrist below Azaran’s hilt and the elbow locked by the apex of the hook’s curve.
Azaran applied a steady pressure into keeping the attacker’s arm locked as he pushed it out more, leaving his center open enough for the warrior to strike. He jabbed his fingers towards the man’s throat, hard enough to cause pain while avoiding too much long-term damage or any crushed windpipes.
“The offer still stands.” Azaran said, his voice much colder than in his initial attempts at peace. These men may still deserve cordiality, but at the very least they tried his overt kindness. He pulled back on his blade just a hair’s-width, enough to start teasing at breaking skin with its sharp edge. “Please take it, before things escalate further.”
As he said this, he eyed up the two compatriots of his attacker as well as the man himself. It was a warning to them not to strike as much as it was an attempt at reasoning with him. He felt no confidence that it would work, but the attempt had to be made.
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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 14, 2023 21:32:16 GMT -5
Anathema sprung to life in sync with Azaran. The moment of distraction was all she needed, reaching out with lightning-fast reflexes, snatching the bow out of the man's grip and snapping it in half as easy as she would a toothpick. The demon charged him, checking him with her shoulder in order to reach her sword, take it up, and level it at the remaining bandits. The woman remained frozen in place throughout, only managing to look back and forth between the involved combatants with a look of dawning terror. The now bowless man on the ground remained steady, quiet, meeting Anathema's gaze from below. Sure enough, the man's arms raised in an offer of surrender.
Anathema nodded sternly back at him, without malice. Anger, grudges - they offered no use in matters of war. This one was done.
The man pinned by Azaran, however, was not so measured in his reaction. He writhed, fighting uselessly against the warrior's hold on him, squirming as wildly and uselessly as a fish on a... well, you know. The man only stopped struggling as he felt the cool weight of Azaran's weapon press against his flesh, serving to bring him out of his fit thrashing. Still gasping from the assault, he stilled, fear wide in his eyes.
"Fine, fine!" He relented. "Drop your weapon!"
"But-" The woman began to protest.
"Just do it, you idiot!" The man hissed back, desperation choking through the anger in his command.
She flinched, as if he had struck her. The club fell from her arms, which remained tensed as if she held it still. The man Anathema had knocked to the ground motioned a request to stand. Anathema allowed it.
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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 6, 2023 20:03:28 GMT -5
For a moment, there was no sound. Even the forest stilled as Azaran hesitated for a moment. It wasn’t unlikely that this man would attempt another attack as soon as he let him go. It wouldn’t be the first time someone took that opportunity.
And yet, he couldn’t go back on his word. It wasn’t in his nature. Slowly, he released the pressure on the man’s arm, unentangling his blade from it as he pulled himself back, keeping an eye on him and a firm grip on the hook. He took a deep breath. “Thank you.” He said. “Now, I believe we have yet to introduce ourselves. My name is Azaran. What of you all?”
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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 16, 2023 21:00:26 GMT -5
"What of fuckall." The man hissed back, flecks of spit escaping through from sneering lips. The man wriggled to his feet, making a movement as if to snatch the shiv from the dirt, but quickly thinking better of it. The demon woman's face was curled up in a way that could only be described as the expressional equivalent of a dare. And contrary to his bravado, he knew when he was beaten. It was, perhaps, one of his better traits.
He stepped away towards the others, still trembling from the cocktail of adrenaline, fear, and rage. "Gilly, Duke, we're getting the hell out of -"
The command was cut short by the other man - Duke - who sent a thick hand into his chest, shoving him backwards. In the moment, the difference in the size of the two men became palpable. Duke had a few heads on his superior, and arms twice as thick.
"The hell are you doing, oaf?" The leader spat. "Get your ass moving or I swear to the gods -"
"I want to sit." Duke's voice was low, rumbling. "So's I'm goin.' To sit."
And so he did. As if the past minute had never taken place, the man walked over to the stone where Anathema once rested against and sat upon it, looking for all the world like a weary traveler and not some ruthless highwayman.
The leader, flabbergasted, glanced at the woman who by the process of elimination could be assumed to be named Gilly. She, in turn, cast her own eyes towards the ground rather than meet his. His shoulders tensed at her, at this final betrayal, teeth gritting in preparation for further verbal assault - but it never came. Accompanied only by his own enraged silence, he left. The soft echoes of heavy footfalls plodding through the woods grew more and more distant, until finally they were too far to hear at all.
Gilly glanced around the clearing, wholly unsure of how to advance the interaction. Finally, she landed on:
"Do you guys want some biscuits? The last people we robbed, they uh... they had biscuits."
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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 23, 2023 17:42:25 GMT -5
When the man again attempted to go for his weapon, Azaran’s leveled blade accompanied Anathema’s look, saying he wouldn’t get far if he tried.
It wasn’t much of a surprise to Azaran when he turned to flee; it was common for a man bested to run away and lick his wounded pride. What was surprising, however, was that his compatriots decided to stay. Perhaps they weren’t as tight-knit of a group as he’d first expected. Perhaps they were just more open to conversation.
Azaran stayed silent as he listened to his would-be attacker storm into the woods. When finally he couldn’t hear footsteps, he let out a heavy sigh to break the tension. Then, he turned to Duke and Gully, smiling. “Thank you.” He said to the offer. “But I must decline. Would you two like some tea, though?” He turned to start looking for kindling in order to start the fire. “I’d love to hear how you ended up traveling with him, but perhaps I could use some help getting the firewood first, if you would be so kind?”
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