Anathema
Committed
Roleplay posts: 51
Appearance: A tall, imposing demon woman with pale blue skin, yellow eyes, and curved horns that protrude backwards from her forehead. She wears her hair loose, reaching the base of her spine in length, and wears simple earth-toned vestments that suggest a modest lifestyle.
Equipment: Anathema's chief possession is her bastard sword, a heavy but otherwise unremarkable blade forged from good steel. Counted amongst the rest of of her belongings are a hunting knife and a pack containing various items useful for survival, as well as a small device of unknown origin.
Skills and Abilities: Anathema is adept both in martial combat and tactics. Her skill with a blade is bolstered by her demon strength, placing her physical ability above that of an average human.
Registered: Sept 9, 2021 22:36:23 GMT -5
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Post by Anathema on May 5, 2023 19:27:19 GMT -5
Gilly and Duke glanced at one another to make sure they were on the same page, then again at Anathema. For permission? Approval? It was difficult to say.
Anathema - who, naturally, couldn't be bothered - only thought to offer an indifferent shrug. If Azaran wanted to take in a few strays, well, that was his business. Fastening her bastard sword to her back, she began to walk in the opposite direction in which the bandit had fled. "Buddy system. Twitchy, you're with me."
Gilly opened her mouth to clarify which of them Anathema was referring to, but that amount of time was enough for her to answer her own question. She began to trot behind Anathema, attempting small talk with the fiend as they went. Such attempts were, predictably, in vain.
-----
The first streaks of dusk had begun to coat the sky in the short while that followed. The four reconvened, donating their offerings of twigs and kindling to the fire pit, and before long the first sparks of flame began to lift their way skyward. Before any of them even realized, a boiling kettle had materialized above the flames and approached a boil. Truly, the only thing more fluid than Azaran's fighting style was his proficiency in matters of tea-brewing.
"Weren't much to it, honest." Duke answered as Azaran broached the question of their origin again. "Looked out for each other back on the mainland. Lonnie kept us out of trouble most days. Got us into it other days, I suppose, but it balanced out mostly. Always better at the talkin' bit than we were."
"He knew people where we were from." Gilly piped up. "Who would look the other way if they caught us, or who would take us in, or who would make for an... er, well, an easy mark." She faltered, remembering the type of person she was in the presence of. "Times were tough, you know? We did what we had to."
"All of it went sideways after we got here, though." Duke continued. "Guess he figured there wasn't much to swindle on a desert island. Started raving, letting it all go to his head. And his head got big after a while - prancin' around, talkin' to us like he was our God or somthin'. All that back there..." He paused, sucking his teeth. "Reckon that was just the last straw."
"Its been... bad." Gilly admitted, scratching the back of her head. "Lonnie started running cons and taking jobs we never would have fucked with in the old world."
The two cast a knowing glance at each other, and something approaching shame crept into the faces of the bandits. Duke opened his mouth to speak, but Gilly cut him off.
"Anyway, um... who exactly are you? You, uh, make a habit of making tea for bandits?" The question may have served as a deflection, but the curiosity in Gilly's voice was was clearly genuine. "Is this like, your whole deal?"
"The woman asks very good questions, Azaran." Anathema quipped, stoking the fire. "Maybe we should keep her around after all."
Gilly gulped, laughing a bit too loud at the joke.
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Azaran the Wanderer
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 100
Age: Early 30s
Appearance: (Drawing commissioned, done by Griffith)
Azaran is roughly 5'7", with a muscular, athletic build. He has black hair, cut short to his head, along with a pair of purple eyes. His hair is usually hidden by his armored helmet, however, one with a star-esque face opening and black markings along the top of the head. He wears a purple sleeved shirt underneath a steel cuirass, with pauldrons going out over the shoulders. He wears tanned pants, as well as a pair of armored greaves.
Equipment: As well as his armor, Azaran carries with him few supplies, mainly a waterskin and a small pouch for some food and general supplies as he travels. To protect himself, however, he carries a basic heater shield and what seems to be a hook made out of black metal, sharpened to a short blade at the far end with sharp points on both ends, and a rounded point design on the back. Although it seems unassuming, it can also materialize what seems to be a translucent purple rope-like structure wrapping around the uppermost part of the hook, and extending out any length up to 20ft or so, with a barbed hook at the end. The rope seems extremely hard to break, and the hook seems to be sharp as a blade.
Skills and Abilities: Despite his hesitance to use it, Azaran is very skilled at fighting, and due to the copious amount of time he spends out in the wilderness he is an excellent survivalist, knowing how to spend weeks at a time on his own on travels between civilizations.
Biography: Growing up, Azaran Ðyáhmo lived in the lap of luxury, sheltered from the harsh realities of the rest of his people in the archipelago. His parents, Duke and Duchess of the region, kept him away from seeing that. However, as time went on, his curiosity got the better of him. One night, while his family was sleeping, he snuck out of the palace, to see the world outside. To his dismay, the people were struggling. His parents focused more on their party lives that the lives of the people they were supposed to serve. Disease ran rampant, people were starving in the streets, and bandits robbed in broad daylight. When he returned to his home in the early hours in the morning, he vowed to make his world a better place, one person at a time. He forsook his parents' name, and stole their most precious heirloom, the God Hook Déshimoh, whisking it away in the dead of night to wander the countryside, never staying in one place long, passing along the good fortunes of comradery to his people. Even after the flood destroyed everything, though, he didn't give up, and he plans to spread the same word around this world as well.
Registered: Apr 13, 2021 17:52:55 GMT -5
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Post by Azaran the Wanderer on Jun 16, 2023 21:17:52 GMT -5
Anathema’s quip got a chuckle out of Azaran as well, though one decidedly more reserved than Gilly’s. He considered the two’s story and questions as he took the time to pour the brewed tea into four makeshift cups. He took a sip of his own, savoring the slight wintergreen hue of the birch tea’s flavor. “I suppose you could say it is.” Azaran said, sitting back down after handing out cups. “I am…perhaps a wanderer would be the best term. I have met many bandits in my travels, and I am aware of the fact that I will meet many more. So many of them have similar stories. They turn to banditry out of need, lack of options. Occasionally one may just do it in search of control in their life.” He took another sip. “To them it’s an outlet, rather than an end.” He took another look at their guests. While he was curious about just how bad their jobs had turned, he respected that they didn’t wish to speak on them. Everybody had things they regretted, that they didn’t want to bring up. He knew that all too well. “The most important lesson for someone to learn when learning a weapon is when not to use it. So few people have the thought to stop and simply…talk. The thought to look within themselves and see just why they take the paths they do. Perhaps if I can help someone to do that, and perhaps if I can help them redirect that energy into a path that could get rid of their need for the bandit life, a path that could build themselves and others up instead of tearing down what others have carved out for themselves, perhaps then we could work with one another to make the world a better place. Perhaps then no weapons need drawn.” Azaran hoped he hadn’t lost them as he paused, trying to gauge what they were thinking. “As I said earlier, perhaps one could call me overly optimistic, but could the world not benefit from some more optimism? If my efforts benefit even one soul I find on the roads I travel, would that not be enough to make it worth it?”
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Anathema
Committed
Roleplay posts: 51
Appearance: A tall, imposing demon woman with pale blue skin, yellow eyes, and curved horns that protrude backwards from her forehead. She wears her hair loose, reaching the base of her spine in length, and wears simple earth-toned vestments that suggest a modest lifestyle.
Equipment: Anathema's chief possession is her bastard sword, a heavy but otherwise unremarkable blade forged from good steel. Counted amongst the rest of of her belongings are a hunting knife and a pack containing various items useful for survival, as well as a small device of unknown origin.
Skills and Abilities: Anathema is adept both in martial combat and tactics. Her skill with a blade is bolstered by her demon strength, placing her physical ability above that of an average human.
Registered: Sept 9, 2021 22:36:23 GMT -5
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Post by Anathema on Jun 26, 2023 23:17:04 GMT -5
"All due respect, but you ain't exactly the first good looking, slick-talking bloke who fancied he might have a go at fixin' the world." Duke said. "Folk like you don't tend to last very long where we're from. Or just about anywhere else, for that matter.
"Unless you're a politician." Gilly mused, warming her wiry fingers around her teacup. "Or a preacher man. U-unless its for the wrong god."
Anathema sat next to Duke, tossing a clutch of kindling into the fire. "Sitting down, talking through things, finding a peaceful resolution... that only works if both parties involved actually believe all that can work. I'm not just talking about the bastards, either. Two normal people at odds, good people, each who genuinely want some semblance of peace with each other - they still won't trust the other to meet them halfway."
She thought back to the first time she had met Azaran on the beaches of Vihya Lahn - and how differently things could have gone if Tana had never made an appearance. Anathema knew now, with certainly, that she would never have overcome Azaran in that state. The only thing she still wondered is whether Azaran would have found a way to spare her.
"Odds are, each of them has already been cheated enough times to believe the other's got it out for them no matter what they say." The fiend hunched forward, taking a small sip from her cup to test the heat. "Better to take them out before the other even has the chance."
"Not to mention when one of those people needs a tick to remember what big words like 'optimistic' mean." Duke chimed in.
"Or when they're a six-foot devil with a bad attitude and a chip on their shoulder." Anathema continued. "People will find any excuse in the world to draw steel. Nine times out of ten, its not because they're scum. Its because they're scared. I've met good people. You're still just about the only one of them who would think to negotiate without a knife hidden behind their back."
Anathema wanted to believe Azaran. It was just... she had been alive for a long time. A long time spent understanding the impulses of man and demon alike. To doubt their collective ability to change in any meaningful way. A quiet moment passed before the next person spoke.
"I, ah... guess it has to start somewhere though, right?" Gilly offered hesitantly. "I mean, we're talking now, aren't we?"
Anathema smiled, in spite of herself. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess we are." She wasn't wrong, of course. "And believe me - if anyone can do it, its the purple prince over here."
She waggled her cup at Azaran, cocking an eyebrow. "Haven't tried this one yet, have I?" She took another sip, tasting the brew as it passed over her tongue. "Its good. Sort of... cold-spicy? Strange. You could mask the taste of poison with this if there was ever a need."
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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 8, 2023 19:22:33 GMT -5
“It’s birch bark.” Azaran answered Anathema. “It came from that tree we came across just today. As a relative of wintergreen it has some mint-like qualities, helps clear the airways.” He seemed to ignore the last remark.
“I understand your hesitation, and I realize I am not the first, nor will I be the last, to try what I try.” He moved forward on his seat, coming closer to the fire. “And I know I cannot change the world, not alone. That is part of why I do it, to hopefully inspire others to do the same. And if I can do that, and they do as well, and they inspire more and so on? Perhaps we can all work together to make the world a place where we can meet one another halfway.”
His mind also turned back to his first few weeks on the island, and back to his meeting with Anathema. She was scared, angry, ready to fight. He dreaded to think what injuries she might’ve given him had she wanted to. And yet, she dropped her weapon. She was willing to meet him halfway, and now she was here with him sitting across the fire from a pair of bandits talking tea. He smiled.
“Quite obviously, not everyone is open to talking, like yourselves. Even your former compatriot was quite averse to the idea. But a surprising amount are, if you can show them you mean what you say you do. Just having that chance to start a conversation can do wonderful things.”
Azaran looked back at Anathema, looking into her eyes. “You’re right, people will almost always go for their blade before they have a chance to get hurt themselves, and you’re right; it’s because they’re scared. But what if you can prove to them they don’t need to be? Maybe then you can start a conversation. Like this one.” He turned back to their guests, Gilly and Duke. “A conversation I’m very thankful you two are having with us. As you said, we have to start somewhere, and where better than over a warm fire on a peaceful night such as this?”
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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 4, 2023 17:06:55 GMT -5
Another quiet moment. Gilly and Duke shared a look again, the same shame still written across their faces as before. Finally they nodded at one another, each arriving at the same decision.
"Somethin' we oughta tell you." Duke began. "Ain't right for us to be sippin' tea while..."
"We made a bad deal." Gilly interrupted. "Well, not us..."
"Its like I said - never would have bothered with something like this back home." Duke spoke bluntly - as he was wont to do - but there was the faintest trace of gloom in his voice, now. "Was Lonnie who took the job, but we still went along with it. Our hands ain't clean."
Gilly looked at her feet. "We shouldn't have... nobody should deal in people."
The implication hung in the air, growing more stale with every passing second. Anathema listened quietly. She took another sip of her tea. Her body was calm - but her eyes were focused. There was an intensity there, brewing just below the surface.
"We found someone. W-we were digging through a shipwreck and she was - she was there, stuck in this cage. Had this spooky looking book with her. We didn't know what to do with her, and she kept, um... hissing? So we just... kept her around. Gave her food. Almost lost a hand doing that at some point."
"Then we crossed paths with these... don't even know what to call 'em. Weird folks. Hoods, robes - the full service. Didn't say much. Buncha creeps. But then they says they'll take her off our hands for us. Even give us a good price for her. Didn't give us much for details, but we know Lonnie and them was talking."
"Did you already sell her?" Anathema asked flatly.
Duke shook his head. "Not yet. With what just happened, though... got a bad feeling that good-for-nothing's trying to move up the timeline."
Gilly steadied herself, her hands balled angrily into fists. "No way we could cross them, not just the two of us. But if you both were willing to back us up... I wouldn't hate our odds half as much. Not fair to ask you this, not at all... but I think I have to. Please, help us clean up this mess. After that... I don't know. Guess you do what you have to."
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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 18, 2023 21:27:58 GMT -5
Azaran listened quietly as the two talked about what they had done, who they’d found, his cup of tea sitting still between his hands. His face was neutral, his smile gone but with no anger to replace it. Merely determination.
Before Anathema even spoke, Azaran had packed up their supplies and was beginning to snuff out the fire. “Whereabouts did you find the shipwreck?” He asked with the voice of a man on a mission. “And how many should we be expecting there, if you know?” He looked back at the two, face barely illuminated by the warm cinders that were left from their fire. “We will help. This woman, whoever she is, deserves that much. And the both of you deserve the chance to right your wrongs. Now, we should make haste, before they have time to take her.”
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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 26, 2023 18:51:13 GMT -5
Anathema matched both Azaran's motions and his expression. The fiend drained the remainder of her tea and passed the empty cup to Azaran, causing neither of them to halt their momentum in breaking down the camp. Her face remained cold, but without any real hatred behind it. Some amount of dull resentment, possibly. But that was hardly important, and even less useful. Anathema was unlearning much in regards to her fanatical upbringing, but her people were not in fact delusional about everything. Namely, that strong emotions should never be brought as a companion into the heart of combat. Bloodlust addles your sense of caution, fear creates bias in your tactics, and anger...
Anger makes you sloppy.
-----
Dusk had fallen. Deeper in the woods, where brambles began to choke the woodland canopy above, rested a wooden cage bound by thick cords of sturdy rope. As it had been for some time, the prison was covered in a veil of thick, broad leaves. Far from invisible, but good enough for the remote woodlands that surrounded it. The cage's occupant could hear voices outside.
"About time you freaks showed up." The voice was regrettably familiar. "You lot have no idea how much i'm sticking my neck out, just for you to - ?"
"Your bravery," another voice cut in, "is commendable." A woman, speaking in an eerily placid tone. "Am I to understand, then, that both your subordinates and yourself have come to agree to our terms?"
In addition to the two speaking individuals, the occupant of the cage could make out two additional sets of footsteps, matching step with the woman's voice. Four in total.
"Your terms - no no, sweetheart. You've come to agree to our terms. Did you forget already?" The man weaseled away. "We have been gracious enough to meet you halfway - a mere half of the originally demanded bonus pay-out and supplies, for me and mine. A token of our appreciation."
"I cannot help but notice how you have elected to attend this parlay bereft of those ones you call allies." The voice did not change its demeanor, but managed still to chill the air. "How very curious."
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Xuanezaa
New
Roleplay posts: 3
Age: 30
Appearance: Xu is a Naga woman, first and foremost, and to the layperson looks like a cross between a human and a snake. Her torso is that of a human, but instead of legs she has a long snake-like tail that sprouts from her hips, and instead of two arms she has four extending from her torso.
Her upper half's comparison to a human stops at its shape, however. Instead of human skin, she sports an array of coloured scales that vary in shape, size, and colour depending on where they sit on her body. Her back and arms are coated with larger, dark green scales, but as they move across her stomach, chest, and areas of movement they become far smaller and softer. Her stomach and chest are lighter in colour, where her form matches closer to a human woman.
She sports a shorter haircut, only just reaching past her jaw, and starts at a light blonde at her scalp but ends in a lightish brown. Her brow is formed of slightly harder scales that form ridges across the top of her sharp and predatory eyes, with her pupils often formed into slits that cut through an iris of emerald green.
Her nose is more snake than human, which sits close to her face and forms a smoother sloped profile from her brow to the top of her lips, as opposed to a human's more defined shape. Her mouth remains humanoid, but hides a fearsome secret. Inside her jaw sits four hidden, retractable fans, each able to inject a lethal dose of venom at the flex of a gland within her throat.
Her snake half starts at her hips, where two ridges lay obscured beneath the snake-like skin before smoothing out into her tail, often thought of the vestigial remains of thighs before her kind evolved into their snake-like beings, often theorised to have been done by ancient magics.
For clothing, Xu is adamant in maintaining her culture which some had tried to strip from her many years ago. Her people thrive in the sun, and as such Xu wears enough to remain modest, covering their chest with a cloth or leather chest piece or wraps and her waist in a cloth shendyt accordingly, but otherwise she decorates herself jewellery and trinkets, anything that will catch the sun's rays.
However, in cooler climates, she is willing to put that aside and wears a set of robed, tied close with belts and bangles along her waist and arms, and furs in the true cold, which she does not generally thrive in as they restrict her movement and leave her feeling very claustrophobic. Seeing her tail all wrapped up to keep warm is further evidence of that.
This was all before she was taken, however, and she normally wears what little her captors had given her. After her release, she fully intends to return to her heritage.
Finally, when stood at full comfortable length on her tail, she has been known to reach between eight and nine feet tall.
Equipment: Xuanezaa owned very little, in her captivity the only things she could call her own was her shackles and the cage she lived in.
Assigned to her whenever she was in a brainwashed trance, were two ornate swords and a pair of daggers strapped to her sides, finally crafted for her quick style of fighting and for stealthy, murderous work.
Otherwise, she is on her own, but hardly defenceless.
Skills and Abilities: Xu was once a desert guide and is an excellent navigator by the stars and the winds alone, let alone if she's equipped with a map and compass. She can almost always find her way from point A to point B without too much hassle.
She is also an accomplished fighter and an adept in stealth, even before her capture, but those skills were honed and trained as she started her new life as an enslaved, brainwashed assassin.
Her people naturally produce a potent venom within a gland in their neck, and that venom is carried up to four fangs that sit hidden within her jaw, ready to be extended and to inject her hapless foes. She has full control over the injections, and can adjust the dosage as she sees fit. A large dose for a mercifully quick death, or a short, cruel dose to make it excruciatingly slow.
She also has a love of dance, one that was tested during captivity.
Registered: Apr 20, 2023 17:06:42 GMT -5
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Post by Xuanezaa on Aug 26, 2023 19:32:41 GMT -5
The silence was the only comfort the occupant had left to enjoy. The cool evening air was silent from the insults and jeers, silent from the threats and taunts, silent from her captors making plans for what to do with her, as if she was some sort of stolen trinket, swiped from the home of a rich noble.
She enjoyed the silence.
It was only when it was broken that the occupant opened her eyes. Two emerald pupils peered out from behind hastily cut bangs which had been sawn at by the edge of a rusty blade in hopes of making her more presentable. It only cut into what miniscule dignity she had left. Hatred burned in those eyes as she pulled herself from an escapists' dream and into the tedium of the hell she was forced into. Her pupils shrunk to thin lines as she listened to her surroundings.
Voices? That vile man… and more. Those who would exchange her life for coin? Or those who just wanted to gawk like all the others?
Or did they merely want to hire her services?
Hatred burned in her heart as the occupant stirred. What seemed like rolls of blankets shifted and slithered as the occupant moved her tail as far as it could against its bindings, helping prop up her torso into a seated position against the bars. She wrestled against the constraints that held her tail and all four arms in place, giving her little room to wiggle, but as always they held firm.
Her constraints tugged at the rags that covered her chest and the area where her humanoid torso met the tail of a snake, forcing her to stop while she still had some modesty. A sigh escaped her nostrils as she leaned her head against the bars. She didn't even have the luxury of expressing her disappointment properly with the gag shoved into her mouth.
She listened to the words being spoken. Old world common… freaks? She didn't know the voices or who they belonged to, but far more alarming to her was the accent that sounded somewhat familiar. They shared similarities to the tribes and groups from the last place she was forced to call home. Did they know of the book?
She closed her eyes and let out another sigh. She had to gather her thoughts so she could either steel herself for a potential escape…
Or for just another chapter to her story of forced servitude.
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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 28, 2023 20:47:02 GMT -5
Quiet. Azaran slowed to a crawl as he heard the two voices speaking, lowering to the ground to keep out of sight. The one he recognized, the voice of that Lonnie that had been in their camp. The other was new, though. No one he knew, but no one that could be taken lightly.
As they finally got close enough, Azaran could make out the silhouette of the cage, as well as the forms of the people talking. Four, he noted. Lonnie would be trivial, easy to keep from harming them, leaving three that may still be a threat. And, based on their demeanor, they were.
The wandering warrior snuck around to the side of the cage facing away from the occupied captor and buyers, bidding his traveling companions to follow. Slowly and quietly, he pulled out his hooked blade and started to cut away at the ropes binding the cage together, trying to open up a part of it that the captive inside could sneak out of. It would be obvious to Anathema, after the amount of time she’d spent around him, that he was trying his best to get out of this without an outright conflict.
After the better part of a minute, Azaran had cut away a good bit of the rope, just enough to start compromising this side’s structure. Just a little more, he thought. Then they could take the captive and make a run for it. At least, until the rope he was working on broke apart with a clearly audible snap. His heart sank. This wasn’t going to be as easy as he’d hoped.
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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 15, 2023 15:57:06 GMT -5
Anathema and the bandits rounded the clearing quietly, the demon guiding their steps with the bidding of her hand and the sharpness of her glare. She didn't afford herself the luxury of getting a closer look at the prisoner until they had achieved stillness beside Azaran, quietly standing vigil beside him as he worked to sever the ropes of the makeshift cage.
Anathema parted the broad leaves covering the cage just enough to peer into and out of, looking upon the captive for the first time. Gilly and Duke had told her of the woman's appearance, of course, but Anathema still found herself feeling some surprise - as to why, she could not say exactly. Perhaps it had just been some time since she had met another person like... well. Another monster. The rage within her flickered again. She trusted Azaran, respected him... but it was all Anathema could do not to draw steel and end this here and now. She was tired of seeing people put in cages. Very tired.
She met the naga's eyes, nodding once and silently pressing a finger to her lips. Not now. Wait. Gilly and Duke waited behind her, steel-faced with eyes darkened in shame and fear.
Snap. One wrong cut. The voices stopped.
"It would appear that all this bickering has been enough to awaken your cargo. Perhaps we should inspect this precious bargaining chip of before we proceed further?” The woman chided. “We don’t deal in... shall we say, damaged goods.”
Lonnie grumbled something unintelligible under his breath as a set of footsteps approached the cage. The four hid behind in stock stillness, Anathema making meaningful eye contact at Azaran while apologetically drawing the blade from her back.
She closed her eyes, crunching the numbers in her head, weighing the odds. She made her decision. She drew a dagger from her boot and passed it between the bars - not much, but something. She didn’t know if the woman had any experience with such a thing, but the least she could do was give her a fighting chance. Anathema met the naga’s eyes again, narrowing them with intent.
“Duck.”
There was a thin whoosh of Anathema’s blade, followed by a symphony of a thousand tiny splinters as the top of the cage tumbled off the bottom. She had only needed a single stroke to split the prison in two with a clean diagonal cut.
Lonnie’s eyes grew wide. “Fuck! Oh, fuck!"
The woman made a face beneath the hood of her robes. “I see. A pity.” She took a few cautious steps back from the cage, falling in step behind her companions - companions who now drew arms. One held a spear in one hand and a net in another; the other held only a grisly flanged mace.
“Kill them all.”
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Xuanezaa
New
Roleplay posts: 3
Age: 30
Appearance: Xu is a Naga woman, first and foremost, and to the layperson looks like a cross between a human and a snake. Her torso is that of a human, but instead of legs she has a long snake-like tail that sprouts from her hips, and instead of two arms she has four extending from her torso.
Her upper half's comparison to a human stops at its shape, however. Instead of human skin, she sports an array of coloured scales that vary in shape, size, and colour depending on where they sit on her body. Her back and arms are coated with larger, dark green scales, but as they move across her stomach, chest, and areas of movement they become far smaller and softer. Her stomach and chest are lighter in colour, where her form matches closer to a human woman.
She sports a shorter haircut, only just reaching past her jaw, and starts at a light blonde at her scalp but ends in a lightish brown. Her brow is formed of slightly harder scales that form ridges across the top of her sharp and predatory eyes, with her pupils often formed into slits that cut through an iris of emerald green.
Her nose is more snake than human, which sits close to her face and forms a smoother sloped profile from her brow to the top of her lips, as opposed to a human's more defined shape. Her mouth remains humanoid, but hides a fearsome secret. Inside her jaw sits four hidden, retractable fans, each able to inject a lethal dose of venom at the flex of a gland within her throat.
Her snake half starts at her hips, where two ridges lay obscured beneath the snake-like skin before smoothing out into her tail, often thought of the vestigial remains of thighs before her kind evolved into their snake-like beings, often theorised to have been done by ancient magics.
For clothing, Xu is adamant in maintaining her culture which some had tried to strip from her many years ago. Her people thrive in the sun, and as such Xu wears enough to remain modest, covering their chest with a cloth or leather chest piece or wraps and her waist in a cloth shendyt accordingly, but otherwise she decorates herself jewellery and trinkets, anything that will catch the sun's rays.
However, in cooler climates, she is willing to put that aside and wears a set of robed, tied close with belts and bangles along her waist and arms, and furs in the true cold, which she does not generally thrive in as they restrict her movement and leave her feeling very claustrophobic. Seeing her tail all wrapped up to keep warm is further evidence of that.
This was all before she was taken, however, and she normally wears what little her captors had given her. After her release, she fully intends to return to her heritage.
Finally, when stood at full comfortable length on her tail, she has been known to reach between eight and nine feet tall.
Equipment: Xuanezaa owned very little, in her captivity the only things she could call her own was her shackles and the cage she lived in.
Assigned to her whenever she was in a brainwashed trance, were two ornate swords and a pair of daggers strapped to her sides, finally crafted for her quick style of fighting and for stealthy, murderous work.
Otherwise, she is on her own, but hardly defenceless.
Skills and Abilities: Xu was once a desert guide and is an excellent navigator by the stars and the winds alone, let alone if she's equipped with a map and compass. She can almost always find her way from point A to point B without too much hassle.
She is also an accomplished fighter and an adept in stealth, even before her capture, but those skills were honed and trained as she started her new life as an enslaved, brainwashed assassin.
Her people naturally produce a potent venom within a gland in their neck, and that venom is carried up to four fangs that sit hidden within her jaw, ready to be extended and to inject her hapless foes. She has full control over the injections, and can adjust the dosage as she sees fit. A large dose for a mercifully quick death, or a short, cruel dose to make it excruciatingly slow.
She also has a love of dance, one that was tested during captivity.
Registered: Apr 20, 2023 17:06:42 GMT -5
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Post by Xuanezaa on Oct 1, 2023 15:57:43 GMT -5
The woman’s eyes flew open at the sound of the binds that held her make-shift cage together. She shifted and rolled, careful not to fall over herself, and peered through the leaves that hid the bars that she had included in her long list of things she hated. She saw… a man. A human man. Wretched things, in her experience, so filled with arrogance and vile desires. Her eyes flicked from the blade to the man’s face, part of her calculating how she could take the blade, kill him, and escape, but thankfully some semblance of patience remained in her mind. A confused calm slithered through her thoughts, he was trying to free her. Perhaps to take her as his own captive? Did he have her book? The confused, angry look remained in her eyes as she watched his work, but then another peered through the leaves at her. Xuan’s eyes darted to the newcomer, ready to size her up, but then their eyes locked for just a moment. She saw something familiar in those eyes. The anger, the contempt, the hatred, but none of it seemed directed at Xuanezaa, but instead the look intensified when the woman looked over the cage that kept Xu from the world. She had seen that look every time she looked at her own reflection. Xu’s eyes darted from the woman’s to her blue skin, then each horn in turn, and the blade that she wielded. Who was she? What was she? She wasn’t among those who had taken her captive, or bought and sold her time and time again like the others. She felt the grip of hatred and anger loosen around her heart for just a moment, a feeling that almost startled her. When the horned woman touched her lips to signal silence, Xu realised what it was that had shocked her deep inside. Hope. Hope to escape the tedium of servitude, hope to rid herself of the vile creatures that held her bonds, hope that she might see the sunlight as a free woman for the first time in so, so long. That hope faltered when she heard the snap. Just like her potential saviours, she froze, fixing the horned woman with a stare, which then turned into a glare as she looked at the human man. It couldn’t be helped. She finally shifted, readying herself for whatever was to come. Freedom should her saviours win? Or horrible punishment if they lost. Xuan’s eyes flicked back to the demon, then grew when she saw the knife. It was no time for two people to start cutting, she needed to be ready for combat! But then something miraculous happened. Something glorious. The knife was passed into the bars. Xu stared at the blade that stuck out for just a moment before locking eyes with the woman once more. Duck? She was Sumenak, not a bir- Those thoughts came to a crashing end as the top of her cage met the same fate. She immediately felt the splinters rain down on her, but they were instantly followed by the glorious feeling of the sun against her scaly skin. It felt… almost like freedom. The woman had done it, in one fell swoop no less, where the human had failed. Typical. Xuanezaa wasted no more time on those thoughts as she took the knife in her bound hands. She turned and twisted, angling the blade and pushing it up and down until she heard that fateful, wonderful snap. The tension in all of her arms and shoulders instantly eased as she brought her hands forward, finally released from her bondage. She had no time to examine herself, as she quickly set about the ropes that held her long, coiled body in place. A giddy excitement filled her shrivelled heart as she worked, sawing at each rope and relishing in each ounce of pressure that left the sides of her body. Finally, she reached up and cut the gag around her face and let it fall to the ground. She took a deep breath and finally let her long, forked tongue free to taste the air. The scents of the grass around them, the cool air, the wilds that pulled at her soul, and her saviours that mixed with her captors, she could taste and smell it all. She felt it growing deep within - strength, vigour, passion… …and anger. She looked to her blade and let out a blood curdling, angry, hate filled hiss that seemed to carry, giving the hooded woman’s henchmen pause. They faltered in their footsteps as the blood ran cold in their veins, witnessing as the half snake rose from the remains of the cage. Four arms outstretched, and a strong, almost endless tail lifted her to a terrifying height, and that look of wild and absolute disdain that filled her slitted, bright jade eyes. Their advance only started again as their allies crept from the forest around them. More of the robed woman’s minions, previously laying in ambush, waiting for a signal. She let out another terrifying hiss as she surveyed them all in turn. One of her lower arms pointed towards Lonnie, the wretched little worm who had become her newest owner, and the hooded woman who hoped to take that title. “I want them alive,” she hissed to those who had taken up arms with her, even the two who had worked with Lonnie before. She would deal with them later. “The rest will die.” There was no waiting for any sort of agreement or protest, there was no room for negotiation. Her body moved like water, cascading over itself as she pressed forward at an alarming speed, her body close to the ground as she eyed up her first target. He carried an axe in one hand, but it didn’t matter. He brought it up in a startled yell but Xuanezaa was quicker. Her blade shot forward like a flash, cleaving his hand from his wrist, followed by the man’s scream. It all happened so fast, but to Xu it was long enough for her to enjoy it. To finally return all the cruelty that her captors had shown her back to those who deserved it felt… almost euphoric. To finally be in control of the blade in her hand instead of a part of her that had been locked off for so long, it felt like justice. The man’s scream ceased as she cut his throat, spilling the human’s red blood onto the ground below. Xu picked up his axe without hesitation and rolled aside as the head of a spear pierced the space she had been in, missing her by a hair. To her surprise he was able to recover quickly, forcing her to shift and move, barely missing his strikes, but on the next one she was ready. She shifted and knocked his spear to the side, knocking him off balance and giving her a moment to strike. She opened her mouth wide and flexed her throat, producing a viscous, purple liquid that she launched at the attacker’s face. The jet of venomous spit splashed over his eyes, forcing a horrific scream of pain from him. If Xuanezaa knew mercy, she showed it only then. She dropped the knife from her upper hand to her lower and grabbed the blinded man by the shoulders. Her free hand held his spear out, while the other jabbed the blade of her knife into his abdomen, piercing his heart several times.
The body dropped to the floor before Xu turned her attention to whoever else wanted to try and take her newfound freedom from her. Wild eyes looked from person to person, each of them seemed to move in slow motion as the adrenaline cascaded through her body. When she spotted those who had tried to hold the keys to her existence, she plotted a new course. She would need to cut through more minions but she would have her prize. And she would make them pay.
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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 19, 2024 20:33:50 GMT -5
As he heard the snake-woman's captors talk, Azaran casted a glance towards Anathema, one that made obvious his displeasure with how the situation had developed. He drew his shield and turned to look at the one they were trying to free. He knew he had messed up, nodding back to her as she glared at him. “Get ready.”
The instant Anathema took her blade to the cage, Azaran dashed out from behind it, rushing one of the men to take him by surprise. In one fluid motion he blocked an oncoming strike with his shield before bashing it into the lackeys face, disorienting him while Azaran's other hand reached up to slam him in the throat. As another dashed at him, weapon raised, Azaran backed away from the stab of a blade, redirecting his attacker into his first target without a pause, toppling them both. He brought his foot down hard against the back of the man with the sword, trying to injure him enough to incapacitate him.
Taking a moment to survey the field, Azaran spotted the formerly captive snake-woman's frenzy…as well as her victims. He winced. It was understandable why she did it, but he couldn't help but feel it was far from the best way to handle it. But he knew now was not the time to chide, and he half expected he'd be the next one on the other end of that knife if he did. For now, there were other problems to be solved.
He turned to the hooded woman who led this group of assailants, rushing towards her with a righteous fury. If he could incapacitate her, he thought, he could use the threat of harming her to end the fight with little bloodshed. He just had to be careful.
As he got close, Azaran dropped down into a slide, trying to hook her leg. If he succeeded he would lift up, trying to topple her to the ground. Otherwise, he'd stand back up and whip around, aiming for her head with the flat of his blade.
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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 8, 2024 19:00:37 GMT -5
Pandemonium.
Anathema rushed into the fray with alarming speed given the size of her silhouette, interposing herself between the woman and her would-be captors as best as she could manage. Her first attack was made with flesh rather than steel, body-checking the nearest underling with her shoulder and sending him reeling. She could smell burning flesh as she took up a position next to the captive and her latest victim - specifically, the one who had been recently unburdened of a face. The scent was almost as potent as that of the blood and fury wafting off of Xu, who's face was that of a cornered animal. A face Anathema imagined her own enemies had come to be intimately familiar with.
She made an effort to pull her punches when she could afford to (she was certain that Azaran would be grumpy enough at the pile of viscera rising steadily around this crazed snake woman), but only when she could afford to. A hostage situation was not the time to fumble around with experimental bohemian combat techniques, as effective as they might some day prove to be. So when an underling came at the two with poor footing and truly laughable swordsmanship, Anathema justified sidestepping the wretch and sending him careening to the ground with a well-place strike of her palm.
And when the next one approached near-silently with a dagger leveled at the small of Xu's back, she cut him in half.
The reinforcements began to close in around Xu and Anathema, stalwart in the face of their adversaries' joined ferocity, but increasingly more tentative as the skirmish continued to evolve. Off towards the edge of the clearing, the once-highwaymen held their own as best they could, picking off stragglers when they were able. Hapless though they may have been, still they managed to hold their own. Anathema and Azaran had given them a crash course of sorts - at least, as much as they could afford to in the short window they had before setting off to free the captive. Lonnie, predictably, was nowhere to be found amidst the fray. The weasel had shrunk into the tree-line, crawling through the dirt so as to avoid being noticed, or otherwise struck by a stray projectile.
Azaran, to his misfortune, was met with more resistance than he might have first expected. A whispered word from the woman's lips in a dead language - As the wanderer made to engage the woman, the earth itself had risen to thwart his approach. His greaves grew heavy, sinking into the dirt below which had become suddenly as soft as sifting sand. With Azaran thrown off his balance, the swing went wide and allowed the woman to step out of the hook's trajectory. Her eyes remained trained on him, wholly fixating on the warrior as her whispers continued, chant-like, growing more and more agitated. Her left hand balled up into a tight, shaking fist as the earth sunk deeper and deeper, threatening to swallow Azaran up to his ankles. With her right, her fingers extended out rigid and taut - as sparks of blue light began to dance with quiet malice across her fingertips.
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Xuanezaa
New
Roleplay posts: 3
Age: 30
Appearance: Xu is a Naga woman, first and foremost, and to the layperson looks like a cross between a human and a snake. Her torso is that of a human, but instead of legs she has a long snake-like tail that sprouts from her hips, and instead of two arms she has four extending from her torso.
Her upper half's comparison to a human stops at its shape, however. Instead of human skin, she sports an array of coloured scales that vary in shape, size, and colour depending on where they sit on her body. Her back and arms are coated with larger, dark green scales, but as they move across her stomach, chest, and areas of movement they become far smaller and softer. Her stomach and chest are lighter in colour, where her form matches closer to a human woman.
She sports a shorter haircut, only just reaching past her jaw, and starts at a light blonde at her scalp but ends in a lightish brown. Her brow is formed of slightly harder scales that form ridges across the top of her sharp and predatory eyes, with her pupils often formed into slits that cut through an iris of emerald green.
Her nose is more snake than human, which sits close to her face and forms a smoother sloped profile from her brow to the top of her lips, as opposed to a human's more defined shape. Her mouth remains humanoid, but hides a fearsome secret. Inside her jaw sits four hidden, retractable fans, each able to inject a lethal dose of venom at the flex of a gland within her throat.
Her snake half starts at her hips, where two ridges lay obscured beneath the snake-like skin before smoothing out into her tail, often thought of the vestigial remains of thighs before her kind evolved into their snake-like beings, often theorised to have been done by ancient magics.
For clothing, Xu is adamant in maintaining her culture which some had tried to strip from her many years ago. Her people thrive in the sun, and as such Xu wears enough to remain modest, covering their chest with a cloth or leather chest piece or wraps and her waist in a cloth shendyt accordingly, but otherwise she decorates herself jewellery and trinkets, anything that will catch the sun's rays.
However, in cooler climates, she is willing to put that aside and wears a set of robed, tied close with belts and bangles along her waist and arms, and furs in the true cold, which she does not generally thrive in as they restrict her movement and leave her feeling very claustrophobic. Seeing her tail all wrapped up to keep warm is further evidence of that.
This was all before she was taken, however, and she normally wears what little her captors had given her. After her release, she fully intends to return to her heritage.
Finally, when stood at full comfortable length on her tail, she has been known to reach between eight and nine feet tall.
Equipment: Xuanezaa owned very little, in her captivity the only things she could call her own was her shackles and the cage she lived in.
Assigned to her whenever she was in a brainwashed trance, were two ornate swords and a pair of daggers strapped to her sides, finally crafted for her quick style of fighting and for stealthy, murderous work.
Otherwise, she is on her own, but hardly defenceless.
Skills and Abilities: Xu was once a desert guide and is an excellent navigator by the stars and the winds alone, let alone if she's equipped with a map and compass. She can almost always find her way from point A to point B without too much hassle.
She is also an accomplished fighter and an adept in stealth, even before her capture, but those skills were honed and trained as she started her new life as an enslaved, brainwashed assassin.
Her people naturally produce a potent venom within a gland in their neck, and that venom is carried up to four fangs that sit hidden within her jaw, ready to be extended and to inject her hapless foes. She has full control over the injections, and can adjust the dosage as she sees fit. A large dose for a mercifully quick death, or a short, cruel dose to make it excruciatingly slow.
She also has a love of dance, one that was tested during captivity.
Registered: Apr 20, 2023 17:06:42 GMT -5
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Post by Xuanezaa on Apr 9, 2024 16:21:12 GMT -5
The snake found herself in such a violent, blood thirsty trance that she didn’t notice someone fighting by her side, not until she heard the sickening squelch of a man cleaved in two. She spun, turning completely on her tail, only to be met with the grisly remains. She looked to the demon, a look of fury and anger, her breathes coming quick and deep, but then her eyes narrowed and she tilted her scaled head slightly in confusion. Was she… fighting alongside her? Truly? These new people… she had not seen anyone like them. Not for a long time.
But that look quickly turned to rage once again as she flung her bloodied dagger at Anathema’s head, narrowly missing it. No… not missing it. The dull thunk and stagged footsteps not far behind Anathema proved that she was never the target, but instead a daring minion who was well rewarded for his misplaced bravery. They were even.
She may have been temporary, but the demon appeared to be a worthy ally. It came as a surprise that she could consider anyone that, but… it didn’t bare thinking about. Instead, she turned, facing the reinforcements that gathered around them. A horrifying hiss escaped her as she rose up, taller than the demon below, and cutting a fearsome silhouette. A monster, armed and extremely dangerous, and she could tell by the smell of fear that permeated the air that it was effective.
“I do not wish to die this day,” she finally said, addressing the demon, her voice harsh and dripping with venomous rage. “But I will die before I am bound once more.” She looked over her shoulder down at the blue woman who had so bravely stood by her, even with such a display of violence that Xu proved herself capable of. Brave, and generous enough to free her. “If I die, I will die free. Thank you.”
The snake then surveyed her foes, wondering how many would flee. She looked between them with a demented, wide eyed grin to her face, one that seemed to force some back a step. Her tongue flicked from her mouth, tasting the air. The fear, the blood, the carnage, all of it sweet to the taste. To her it was the taste of justice.
“I have his scent,” she hissed, looking between the foes. “Demon… I will carve a path through this meat for you and I. Your human is faltering, as expected. Aid him.” Her eyes darted to another of the minions who dared to step forward, forcing him to reconsider. None of them wanted to march forward. None had the nerve to order it. “I have a mouse to hunt…”
With that, she let out another low, guttural hiss. “I want your leaders,” she growled as she looked between several of the unlucky men. Each word was pointed and purposeful, she would be understood. “And I will have them. We are surrounded, but only by dead men who have not yet accepted their fate. Run now and you may outpace my blade, this is the only mercy I offer.”
She didn’t spare them a second thought. Instead, her rage bubbled up from within again and she let out another terrifying hiss. She held the spear in two hands and the axe in one, turning back into the whirling wind of death, charging forth and continuing the righteous murder and onslaught of all those who had ever wronged her. In every frightened face, a captor. In every look of regret, a buyer. In every call to war and battle cry, the voice of a seller. They would be silenced by her hands, their screams turning to the spatter of blood hitting grass. Some accepted her offer fled before her, breaking ranks and forming holes. Their safety was not guaranteed, if she caught up to any of them… they had best run fast.
Three, four, five, bodies thumped against the grass, some wounded, most dead, but each being left in Xu’s wake. She’d opened a path, one for Anathema to break loose and aid her little friend, and for herself to follow that scent. She cut left and right, spat at those unwilling to let her past, and soon she was free she started off after that taste, leaving any survivors behind her scattering in a confused mess.
She remained low to the ground, eyes dilated as she hunted her prey. The scent of old leather, an unwashed body, and the hint of fearful urine, she knew it was her mouse. The one who held her captive, the one that looked on her as a mere plaything to be toyed with, then sold on to the next person. Her rage boiled in her heart. Revenge was near.
Her slithering fell silent as she entered the underbrush, her body still low to the ground as she followed her scent. Her long tail skirted around rocks, tree trunks, and bush as she moved with a trained, deadly grace. The scent grew stronger, and stronger as she followed the grooves of a dragged body through the brush, then the footsteps that followed. He thought himself safe…
He was far from it.
Xuanezaa slipped and slithered, her body wrapping around the trunk of a tree, climbing high into the canopy as the scent below grew strong. Her long, strong tail held her steady as she moved from branch to branch, then held her aloft, wrapped around a thick branch, as her body slowly lowered back down.
Her prey stood, clutching a rusty sword, hiding behind the trunk of a great tree, gibbering something cowardly and offering prayers to gods who had, in that moment, abandoned him in his time of need. There was no piety in men like him, those who forget the rules of their gods and only call for aid after offering nothing in return.
A scream rang out through the forest as his form was pulled from his feet. His sword was cast into the brush to be forgotten, perhaps for generations to come. It would prove of no use to little lonely Lonnie.
Four hands tugged and pulled at the man, disorienting him like a spider wrapping its meal in web, tumbling him over and over util he found himself constricted by the snake’s unrelenting tail. The pressure built around his arms and legs as Xu loomed over him, axe in hand, her eyes filled with murderous delight.
“Oh gods please answer me!” Lonnie squealed, but his voice caught in his throat as Xu released a long hiss, spattering his face with her spittle. His eyes grew wide in horror and his voice, once filled with arrogance and false confidence, was reduced to a quiet gibbering of fear and regret.
“Your gods are gone,” Xu hissed as she adjusted her tail, lifting him in the canopy and turning him end over end. “There is only you and I, human.” She tightened her grip around the man, bringing a strained whimper from him, then she raised him to be eye to eye with him. “There is no running. No hiding. No salvation. You live on my whim.” She narrowed her eyes and snarled, hatred burning deep within. “Tell me… where is my book?”
It took Lonnie moments to even hear what she’d said. Book? Her book? Another squeeze encouraged the memories back to his fear addled mind. “Ah! Please!” He squeaked. “She has it! Oh gods, please put me down, she has it! The b-bitch who brought the g-goons! Please, stop!” Tears streamed down his face, to Xu’s eternal, sickening delight. “M-Mercy! Please!”
“Mercy?!” Xu bellowed, her twisted smile turning into a scowl of absolute hate. “Mercy?!” she repeated, her disgust only bellowing. With a flex, she twisted her tail around his legs, pulling them against each other as Lonnie let out a panicked bellow that turned into a scream as two simultaneous cracks echoed from his body. Her tail unravelled, allowing his body to fall to the ground below, his voice only cutting as he hit the ground.
But Xu was not satisfied. She collected her weapons and slithered down the tree’s trunk, listening to the snivelling cries of a broken man that writhed below, his legs both completely limp. She stuck her weapons in the ground and approached him, fire burning within.
“Where was mercy when you found me?” she asked in a deep, hate filled voice. She reached down and picked the man up, three hands binding his arms to his body, and one wrapped around his throat. He screamed in agony, but Xu was uninterested. “Where was mercy when you kept me bound? When you tortured me?!” His voice caught in his throat as she tightened her grip. “Where was mercy when you turned me into your tool? Your little toy? Where was it when you were done and decided to sell me? Answer me!” But he couldn’t. She could taste his fear permeating the air, and she could feel his heart pumping in his chest as fast as it could.
“I should leave you here,” she finally said, releasing her grip just a little. “Let you crawl into a hole and die like the cripple you are. Perhaps then you will see justice as your carcass rots, feeding the world with your wasted life. Only then will your existence have had any benefit.” He could only sob and babble in reply, snorting back tears as he tried to say something, anything.
“But you have informed me of my book…” Xu mused, as she turned his face from side to side, savouring in his look of absolute despair. “If they are lies… I will make it slow. You will know pain, and I will have my revenge.” Her lips twisted into a grin once more. “If you are telling the truth… then perhaps I will give you mercy… perhaps.”
Lonnie sobbed through his tears, the pain across his body unbearable. Regrets flooded through his mind, one after the other, events that made him who he’d become. What he’d done to his friends, to his enemies, all the innocents along the way. What he’d done to the snake through her book. The merchant caravan he tested her on. The bandit chief he’d run afoul.
The power his control over such a woman had.
“It’s... it’s true…” he managed to choke out in a defeated voice. It truly was his own fault. “She has your b-book… I sold it… she wanted to m-make sure it was real before paying the rest f-for… for y-you!” He let out an agonised moan as the pain in his legs washed over him again. “I’m sorry… I… I regret everything… I’m sorry, Snake, I’m… I’m sorry, please… please, have mercy… you’ve h-had your revenge! I’ll n-never walk again!”
Xu looked him over again, revelling in his hopelessness. It was music to her ears and filled her little, cruel, shrivelled heart. The man that tried to break her, one in a long line of owners and buyer. He never could, none of them could, and before long she’d break every last one of them that still lived.
“Perhaps you will see mercy…” she finally said, looking him in the eye, searching.
As the words registered in his pain-addled mind, she saw what she was looking for - hope. That spark of hope that told Lonnie that he might live. Maybe she’ll drop him off at a settlement in exchange for his help? He’d gladly go to whatever prison they had! Maybe they had a healer? Thoughts raced through the fog of his mind, trying to think of this mercy, how he’d earned it with honesty. Perhaps… perhaps he’d…
“The mercy of a quick death.”
Lonnie’s world crashed down around him as Xuanezaa reared up, her jaw unhinging with a horrifying hiss, spattering him once again with spit. Four needle-like fangs slid from her gums in a sickening display, and each dripped with a viscous purple liquid. He finally let out a blood curdling scream, but it was silenced in an instant as Xuanezaa lurched forward in blinding speed, fangs plunging into his neck.
Her throat flexed, pumping venom into the man who writhed and gagged in her grasp. The veins along his body tensed against his skin and quickly turned a dark shade of purple as her cruel venom coursed through his body. A purpled tinged froth bellowed from his mouth and his eyes bulged in their sockets.
What thoughts coursed through Lonnie’s mind, perhaps thoughts of home, of regret, perhaps even his pointless life flashed across his eyes, all of them came to a halt as the venom flooded his system completely. His body went limp, his eyes staring into the void as he slumped to the ground.
Xuanezaa wiped her mouth as her fangs receded into her gums once more. The taste of fear still hung in the air, tinged with a hint of death that grew from the corpse of a hated owner. He deserved a long, drawn out death, nobody would tell her otherwise, but she’d had her fun and he’d lived out his usefulness.
She grabbed him by the collar and collected her weapons. The enemy still lingered, and she would not leave the demon unaided. The other human’s fate was… less than certain. She quickened her pace, not caring in the slightest as the corpse she dragged bounced off of rocks and tree trunks.
She would spill more blood. She’d guarantee it.
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