Werew0lf 12024 Rep Farm Share Posted August 29, 2021 SLUMBERING INQUISITOR The Statue Immortalized ORIGIN Childhood “You clearly have not mastered the sword, and yet you wish to take the throne from your uncle's hand? Do not be foolish, young Oliver. Continue to grow until the time is ready.” - A conversation from Perseus Helane. As the bright rays of light fled into the shutters of the imperial palace, a young Helane rose from under his bedroom and stared at the overhanging Antonyus -- his only brother, holding some sort of wooden training sword in his hand. “Wake up, brother. It’s noon.” Antonyus barked, wandering off towards the training grounds with his father in pursuit. The young Helane seemed to lack aptitude in swordsmanship, preferring the literary arts that his mother confided in. Instead of making way towards the training grounds, he sat atop a barrel within the hidden family winery and opened a book on noble etiquette in the imperial courts. Oliver read away for days and nights in his lonesome, lacking the social skills that his brother and father exuded. Time continued to flee. . . and Oliver dredged himself into the waters of his stories. Maturity “Hasten your studies, young Oliver. You should be wielding a sword, not holding a book.” - A conversation from Antonyus Helane. The two brothers quickly aged, now mature enough to join the imperial state army. His brother feigned ignorance and fastened away from the imperial city to join a band of mercenaries, whereas the young Oliver remained vigilant under the protection of their high-authority walls. As he was invigorated with the news of his comrades, the rising denture of the AIS bloomed, on top of his fathers whereabouts and treason. He felt ashamed, yet cowered in the ranks of the imperial state army as some messenger-boy. “Take these letters.” Sir Adrian Leopold Roussard bid, the young Helane rushing out with the letters to the specified barony. On his way to the location, he was ambushed by a group of enemies; battered and scarred, left only with a torn uniform and infiltrated letters. In his return to shame, the proud stallion of the fourth brigade faced both ire and sorrow for the young Helane, thus taking him as a squire. “Train quickly, young Helane. We have a war to face.” He yelled patriotically, in which the teen saluted and ecstatily prepared for his lessons. Flames of the Archdrakaar “I should have been it. You are older, but not as wise, nor fit to rule.” - An argument between Oliver Helane and Antonyus Helane. After learning the basics of swordsmanship, though not perfected nor ironed-out, he began his venture into the lands of a new elven vassal by the name of Ando Alur; in the wake of his kindled excitement, the young member of the fourth brigade marched into the lands in hopes of adventure and discovery -- he met a merry folk, yet hidden with underlying secrets, tales of immortality and more. He became a common visitor to the elvish vassals, even adopting a nickname as wine collector, known for bringing alcohol between the friendly states. As he grew further embedded into the elvish lands, soon he discovered the truth of flames -- the dancing embers which swayed stories of eternal life, wreathed by the great Archdrakaar. “This is wonderful.” Oliver commented, prepared to face his trials. Yet. . . trials were not always what they seemed. Forbidden Trials “You stand before Tor Nurizoth. As you enter history’s beckoning, I hope you are prepared for the ruin that awaits.” - An ominous voice called to Oliver Helane as he walked into the history of Ibleesian warfare. A group of dragonkin joined the Helane in his trials, where they battled monsters and drakes of old and new. They grew closer and closer towards some ancient, decrepit portal. Upon stepping in, the group of pious worshippers were dragged into a bygone hold where Iblees once stood; tasked with one duty only -- to retrieve orbs of great magnitude. They scurried away and searched, finding each and every relic before returning it towards the portal, which collapsed with a hoard of new enemies to face. They fought constantly for hours, the young Helane nearly breaking into sweat and tears. Eventually, the onslaught of incursions halted -- he was met with the next challenge. “I will be your next foe.” Burgeon flames combusted the nearby volcanic husk, large wings shrouded by black flames danced as grave eyes stared onwards; the Archdrakaar challenged, exhuming a gout of flames towards the young man. Unable to face the might of the Firstborn, he ducked and hid under rocks, only to be met by fangs entangling his very neck. A few seconds later, he was thrown into a pit of lava, drowning in his sorrows. One hand extended out . . . scaled with black and wrought by flames. Slaughter of Siramenor “You cannot run away from this.” - Words spoken to Oliver Helane by unknown people. Suticans rallied other nations, preparing to charge the imperial state in warfare. His brothers, cousins and uncles slowly switched sides and readied blades. A depressed Helane readied his sword, prepared to fight against the Holy Orenian Empire, yet felt his patriotism was betrayed by pressure. Of course, the dragonkin cared not about rebellions or mortal warfare, only words from the Immortal Agent. Due to the personal disdain of the Archdrakaar against Siramenor, he called for warfare and began raiding the populace of Siramenor actively. They fought in their homeland and fought outside -- massacres after massacres ensued, where six dragonkin slaughtered thirty soldiers by their lonesome. His hatred for the druids grew hastefully, pushing his pressures from family duties indifferent towards another group -- innocents who did not deserve the pain of his blade. Eventually, his vexatious nature dulled, no longer pursuing his conflict with those of Siramenor during the overbearing of an inferi invasion -- yet it is assumed that Oliver Helane tipped off the inferi to target Siramenor. The Inquisitor Eternal “It is good to see you again, Inquisitor Eternal. You have slept long enough.” - Words spoken to Oliver Helane by the Archdrakaar. As the denizens fled to Almaris, the young dragonkin was carried away by the wings of the Archdrakaar -- a stone statue, pushed away by the breath of the mighty Azdromoth towards Almaris. Upon landing onto the shores of Haelun’or, his stone-body cracked and erupted to reveal mortal flesh, as were his brothers and sisters punished to walk a mortal life once more. He set off once more to strive for enlightenment. It is unsure when he was bestowed his immortal boons once more, but this was prior to the erection of the Silver State on their second occurrence. Antonius and Oliver ventured off towards the land of Haense, settling as Knights in hopes of disguising themselves. Blessed Aldric del Riviere “FOR GODANI!” - Aldric del Riviere yelled, charging into a rally of hundred soldiers, self-sacrifice to the Canonist Church. The young Helane found solitude in the warmth of canonism, adopting a new personality in hopes of becoming a pious holy knight, joining the Order of Exalted Owyn and growing to become a representative to their military. As the group of clergy ventured into the lands of Haense, they were fought off by the soldiers under orders of their Koeng. In a moment of virtue and desire to please someone outside of the Archdrakaar, the Holy Knight rushed into the rally of soldiers -- a fight ensued for over twenty minutes, a one on fifty, which eventually ended in the slaughter of Aldric. Due to his pious nature, he was beatified by the church in providence. Taynei’Hiylu “You have made a foolish decision.” - Commented the Inquisitor Eternal, twenty blades piercing him thereafter breaking the shrine of Taynei’hiylu. A wight and two dragonkins, an unsettling alliance forged temporarily to destroy a druidic beacon of Taynei’hiylu. Upon confronting a rally of druids, Allant rushed towards the beacon as the Inquisitor Eternal and said unnamed wight fought off the group, ensuring it was destroyed. As the fight ensued for an hour, the dragonkin was able to destroy the beacon -- sadly, blades pierced through his body. The druidic dragaar appeared before the group, snapping the neck of his comrade, knowing full-well of their immortality and mentioning it thereafter. The wight had already fled the scene and the two dragonkin combusted and appeared before their drakeshrines once more; the Archdrakaar saw their valiance, yet did not act upon it. Faltering of Faith “Father, you’re starting to piss me off.” - Commented the Inquisitor Eternal to the Archdrakaar. Once again, the dragonkin were stripped of their prowess. Unlike his admonished, teary brothers and sisters, Oliver did not mind nor care about his mortality. He continued to walk the lands, hoping to end his old age -- sadly, his boons returned five years later, no longer able to die as mortals would; in his eyes, mortality was a beautiful, natural state. He felt the presence of his otherworldly sword growing more crazed, beginning to twist and contort his personality into something more antagonistic. This grew his idea of hatred to sprout, and so he brought forth some eldritch seal, ensuring it was delivered to his father whether or not it would end in His end. War on the Dragonkin “Brother Haskir, it seems the world hates us. This is an opportunity.” - Commented the Inquisitor Eternal to Haskir. As hatred brewed in the world against the dragonkin, it also grew onto the Inquisitor. His eyes steered themselves towards Ando Alur, a rally of his brothers and sisters venturing within and ensuring the collapse of the voidal city. Upon its downfall, the Inquisitor Eternal published letters to all, daring anyone to bring a fight to them; a war on war, an inquisition on the inquisitor. Sadly, no response was given. FALL TO CORRUPTION The Statue Immortalised As the Inquisitor Eternal remained tangled by a miasma of necromantic corruption, his veins squelched with black, oozing some ghastly and noxious gas from his maw. His skin began to peel, revealing underlying embers of black; bones rattled and grew more prevalent. Eluitholnear continued to look onward, coughing and choking in pain from his suffering. “I was too late, it seems.” The floating sword from said foreign drakaar twirled around, it felt sympathy, yet also found joy in the suffering of His bound master. Flames of red swayed back and forth against its dracanium edge, cackling with malice. “You fall to the machinations of undeath. I pity you.” It croaked, vibrating with perfervid vexation. The Inquisitor Eternal brought forth a parchment, beginning to write away in the middle of the field, bearing marks of black and scorched land from some ensuing battle. A corpse lay in a slump nearby a tree ignited by flames; it swayed back and forth, left only by its roots. The dragonkin wrote hastefully, eyes mangled and torn away by the very consuming flames of undeath, wearing away his body. “All stories come to an end, my friend.” Eluitholnear muttered towards the greatsword. As silence pursued, the blade scoffed and dug its sharpened edge downright towards the earth. “You lacked the ability to learn. Now, you shall walk the lands with an undying ailment.” The sword clamored excitably. “You are wrong.” Eluitholnear stood, pressing his gauntleted-hands towards the hilt of the greatsword as it remained dug into the ground. His countenance grew stoic, the ever-present scowl vanishing and replaced with voidness. Stone began to engulf from his feet, crackling up towards his leg. A towershield and mace lay near his body. “You’re making a grave mistake.” It struggled in his eternal grip, remaining pressed down against the dirt. The sword roared like some proverbial king, attempting to revolt against his self-sacrifice. Stone crept up towards his torso, slowly beginning to engulf his neck; as it rolled up his chin and towards his eyes -- last words were heard. “Look to the future, Sand.” “We’ve done it.” “I come to you, Firstborn.” The statue stood, without life. The Inquisitor was no more. TO FAMILY AND FRIENDS, We are harbingers of glory and strength; as protectorates of the natural world, we have regretted and shown a lack of our duties -- we are not protectors afterall. If you are reading this, I do not stand in this world anymore. I started this inquisition as crownbearer to the Archdrakaar; we led our forces to victory on numerous occasions. The dread of inferi could not stop us, nor could the stain of Mankind that has rallied against us as false words of GOD. I have been good to some and strict to many. If you have fallen victim to my evil, you have my apologies. Sand will inherit the burden of this greatsword and will do well not to fail. You were good. Antonius will inherit the weight of my mace and will do well to end his foes. You were brother. Haskir will inherit the defence of my towershield and do well to protect the world. You were brother. Mirwuldsetiid, you need to learn. I set you to seek enlightenment, for your pupil lacks the ferocity of Asioth, nor fears His embrace. You were good. Midnetora, we have not been able to speak. I cannot give you purpose, for you are perfect already. You were a sister that I cherished, even if we spoke not. Helinathe, I enjoyed your superfluous excitement over my lacklustre writing. You were a sister that I cherished, even if we spoke not for long. Gamling, you were hatred. However, I felt compassion and love from the words you spouted. You were not hatred, but you were the joy we needed. Balthazar, you are a new addition to our brothers. Find peace and warmth with your family, as I was not. To King Heinrik II, I will have my brother Kaaldomun continue your studies and ordination. He is my greatest pupil. To my wife, I will see you in life after life. Haskir will continue your studies and ordination. This is the end of the story, brother and sisters. Father, we are close to achieving our goals -- I will see. SIGNED ELUITHOLNEAR Your brother. [Message: Ohohohoho! I want to thank everyone who was able to see my character grow from some young idiot into this abomination. I really enjoyed playing the character and all the interactions I had, including Hero and Dingo trolling us constantly (which was the most fun part of it). I got into a little interaction with a really good necromancer and the roleplay was phenomenal, and so I decided to PK instead of reviving by turning into stone. Hopefully, my next character has a fun journey like this one.] 102 Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
Ryloth 4314 Share Posted August 29, 2021 Riding hard after the letter from his friend, he made way for the site of the Inquisitor Eternal's demise. So hard that his warhorse weighted with barding and equipment fell to the bitter cold as he entered the Northern tundra. He'd rushed from Aaz Hahdrim from the island of Karinah'siol to the Northern countryside of Haenseti-Ruska, but no matter his speed nor his steed, Oliver Helane had already died. Eluitholnear was gone. Nothing more, and nothing less. Dismounting the exhausted and fallen stallion, he abandoned his belongings and ran the rest of the way. He knew it was too late. So it was. He followed the nearly snowed-over footprints of a staggering form, black substance trailing behind until suddenly, he met a statue. Bizarre, the sight. Surrounded in the belongings of the by-gone Oliver Helane, Haskir froze in place. Petrified all the same, disbelief surmounted all else. He sat nearby against a tree, watching, waiting. He heard the mocking calls of the Sword of the Drakaar stuck blade-end to the soil. He almost wanted to destroy that vitriolic weapon where it stood. Ignoring it, he observed. Would the statue begin to move? Was it all a figment of the imagination? Surely, it was just a mysterious circumstance. It was not. The Inquisitor Eternal was not so eternal after all. 11 Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
Qizu 4038 Share Posted August 29, 2021 For it was only recently that he met the man so called Elu, his appearance alone was one of the few that actually struck fear within his heart, however even then did a slight sense of admirability exist within the man’s mind. Perhaps in a perfect world he would get to know him more or perhaps even become friends with such an honorable person; but nevertheless who had the ability to experience such a fortune. 3 Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
MikoMonster 1393 Share Posted August 29, 2021 The newly wrought Daughter of Pruvia etched a single word into the snow beneath her feet as she traveled through the icy spikes of the frozen north. "Ssifisv." To the being she had met hours prior, yet already deeply respected. For one's journey had been completed, and yet another's had just begun. 5 Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
Milenkhov 4522 Share Posted August 29, 2021 Upon hearing the dire news, a Nephilim, rather acquainted with the Inquisitor far beyond companionship and creed had been found weeping. For this culminated the tale of two cousins turned brothers, two swords aligned with purpose, two champions that wrought demise to their opposing foes. Zahkriikyzer had been contemplating the future for days prior, yearning an escapade from the stagnant lifestyle that these humanoids lived, and once he had found solace in his thoughts the crumbling reality came knocking on his door. Such was the way of things, and no matter what he tried, no matter how many paid for what had been done to Eluitholnear; Ser Oliver Helane, there was nothing that Antonius could do to bring him back, a point of no return, a breaking point amidst their journey, his watch had ended, his flame had turned naught. After receiving the boons and words of courage assorted by this brother of his is that the neophyte Azdrazi ventured elsewhere, away from the amalgam of otherworldly beings and bureocracy, away from the duties and lashing of steel. He went alone like he had always had been, to be engulfed in this desolation of his. He sailed for the upcoming days, weeks and months even, retiring himself into the abyss of solitude that could only be fulfilled by his partner. What a terrible fate this was, for there was not a word or thought that could calm the raging frenzy within his mind, though a decision had been made; he would abandon his previous identity, for he was no more, if a pillar on their tale had crumbled then the story was long gone, thus Antonius and Zahkriikyzer was no more, a reminder of the cruel ending that stripped him of a portion of his desire to fight on, to live onward, to be free. A depiction remained tucked neatly within his garb; a reminder of their adventures and stories, such was the only remaining aspect that the once princeling would take upon his departure, his journey in loneliness. 6 Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
JoanOfArc 4586 Share Posted August 29, 2021 Helinathe felt an emptiness in her heart as a brother was taken from her. Perhaps, in a way, her brother would do more of God's work in the heavens than he did below. "Blessed Aldric del Riviere, pray for us. I shall miss you.." 4 Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
Johann 1418 Share Posted August 29, 2021 Someplace distant and hushed, a magi mourns and revels ambivalently at the death of an old friend. 9 Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
hotbox_monk 977 Share Posted August 29, 2021 A lone Doomforge rested himself against the Sage's Seat amidst the hallowing winds of the frozen tundra. His weeping did not end until he had arrived, tears froze to his cheeks and tore the skin when he wiped them from his visage. Pain. Pain was what he felt now as he searched for answers within his ocean of thoughts. Though, none would be found. For he was lost. "This world has taken from me for the last time." 4 Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
Norgeth 1113 Share Posted August 29, 2021 A far flung echo resounds to a silent crowd, a sorcerer inventor's soul missing among infinity ... body turned to naught. 5 Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
Honourary 650 Share Posted August 29, 2021 Somewhere far, far away, a Nephilim grieves the death of his brother. 5 Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
Xx_BloodStalk_xX 2123 Share Posted August 29, 2021 A sudden chill emerged over the Dark Lord's spine; and he truly knew - the Crimson King had fallen. "This.. was not in my 'premonitions'.." With a widened gaze, he fell back upon his throne, a palm concealing his left eye while those crooked teeth of his clenched. "You've no parting words for me, then? No.. your message is loud and clear, Oliver! I know what I must do now." The Lord soon stood, hobbling outside in that heavy limp of his.. leaving where he had remained this whole time - a frozen land burdened by its own machinations, freakishly huge spikes of ice concealing his figure as silver wisps followed his wake. 8 Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
Security_ 1075 Share Posted August 29, 2021 Clandestine within hallowed grounds, putrid crypts sealed with stone were disturbed by craven acts. Dragging in its wake an ashen corpse, that which was clad in burnt rags and charred ferrum did the robed fiend curse and sputter. A still room, rank in cavern air and sweltering decay was disrupted, the crooked figure slamming what remained of the skeletal frame upon a pile of fetid, torn cadavers. “IDIOT,” it screamed, resonating within the ivory skull from which curled horns sprouted atop its head. “How these cultists of the winged titan THROW themselves my way!” Expelling out of the horned monstrosity came tumultuous rolls of blackened smog, molting from his make. “No matter, perhaps all of them suffer from such.. alterations,” his creaking voice resonated in the tomb, the faint memories of corrupted dragon’s flame flashed within empty sockets. The sight had intrigued him- something which could warp the very essence of the fervent. Tenebrous haze funneled into a skeletal corpse, picked of meat save for bits and pieces left in arrogance. Slowly it began to shudder to life, a dull ember blossoming in its glassy eye. “Perhaps, more shall be made to See.” Just as the necrotic puppet stood, its skull was smashed by taloned digits, fragmenting to pieces as its tether was split from the plane. The mad cackles never reached the surface, falling on deaf ears far beyond a field which held a lone stone statue in its wake. 8 Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
squakhawk 7945 Share Posted August 29, 2021 The elf looked unto a fading sun the very same day, the hills of the frigid north shrouding the setting star. The elf shifted uncomfortably as his inner flame coldened bitterly, viewing outward. His self-imposed flagellance of hoping his dim heat would give out, and he would crumble to nothing in that horrid snow. He looked through the contents of his bag idly, as trouble stirred within his very spirit. The bag was foreign to him, as he still had yet to explore Sand's belongings, for the memory was too sour. He withdrew a letter, entitled; "To Elu". The elf had these- a series of last wills his previous form had written to those his new would see after death. He'd handed out a few already; Allant, Midnetora, while withholding Elu and Cierra's - another simply entitled to an old lover still yet unopened. It's better I move on. I have killed someone to give myself life. I am to become that someone. Perhaps they'd like me better in such a way. The Nephilim opened the letter, reading its contents idly- his face bittering as his expression would knit tightly. Elu, I am damned. Your doubt in "Azdromoth" and the nephilim has caused me such fear. You are supposed to be indomitable and strong. Yet, you have been lain low to doubts and anxieties. What upon Aeldin had caused you to feel so? And why myself? Had you not accursed my family enough with this plague? Junar, Alayris, Avaeramos -- as my brothers yet they are gone. I have none left and yet you take more. This is your cycle, your eternal purpose of war. It is your ideal I suppose, as I have my own. My Asioth and yours. I know you feel no pity in what will meet death soon. I will not try to pry such from you. This letter is a waste. Discard this. The Nephilim viewed the letter, his expression souring- Had Sand truly wrote this before his death? Despite what the words may have said- the feeling was not there. The vitriol and venom Sand had imbued unto his words were nothing to reality. The dark truth of Sand's lies drained the Nephilim- and this had aided. What if he had gone tomorrow? Would he even hand this to Elu? The Nephilim crumpled the letter, putting it back in his bag. Like a father, like a hero- did he knew he viewed Elu. Perhaps Sand had surrendered himself to death not in fear- but to one day be akin to that Dragonkin he had admired. He was the only one who had spoken to the Herald - the only one who had told him truly how he felt. That was the companionship he so desired. The truth he simply craved. That Elu would not lie, for he had everything to lose- and yet he did not lie to that woeful Herald Sand. Furcalor, Ruvaak, Sand, Caradryel - many names had the dragonkin chosen and not chosen. Each to their varying degrees of truth to who the elf actually was. Yet he did not fit with any of them - the Nephilim was not Furcalor, it was what Marchosias had chosen for him. It was not Ruvaak, for it was what he chose to spite Marchosias. It was not Sand, for it is what Junar had given him. It was not Caradryel, for it was Sand's true name. He was not Elu, nor would he ever be. The Nephilim did not understand Sand's desire to be like him, yet to kick and thrash so violently when he was to get what he desired. The Nephilim did not understand why he would hate the one who would give him all. Nor would he decide to give Elu that letter which condemned him so. He took in a breath of the frosty winter air, the cold painfully wracking his form as he continued his penance. He considered what Elu would think of him now- while off fighting in some glorious battle amidst smoke and salt, the elf was sitting in the far north, hoping to die of exposure as a craven than to at least bear dignity to take his own life. He hated himself, then. Yet he always did. The Nephilim was a troubled thing. A fickle representation to the power and pride that he was supposed to be. Elu wished unto the elf in life, death, and life again, that he would one day become like him- Inquisitor Eternal, to explore the endless seas and skies and to soar as deity among men. Yet here he was, atop a lonesome hill with the bleeding daylight, freezing in winter winds. He grunted to a stand, The Nephilim hefting a heavy hammer over his shoulder- Whispers of The Archdrakaar, the greatblade of his mentor- steadily held unto his back within sheath. Today is the day I become myself. I'm going to speak to you, Elu, and we will achieve our Asioth together. Brother by brother. Your blood and mine. The elf exclaimed proudly unto that sun which had set, the darkened sky being the only to hear his voice. He felt stupid, speaking alone. To where nobody would hear. Even Elu, as he passed in those moments. 12 Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
Capt_Chief26 1205 Share Posted August 29, 2021 Ser Reinhardt Barclay lamented at the loss of his brother in arms, and would miss Ser Oliver and his renowned combat prowess. The Meyster knight signed the lloraine and said a prayer for the Knight’s soul 3 Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
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