Scythera

Chapter One: A bar full of strangers

Escape was the last thing on the Drow’s mind, actually as of those last few seconds, he had no mind., or more, it was locked away. No no, there was no escape for him. As he watched the man before him literally ripped limb from limb, the gore spattering and spraying all over as the drug enhanced blood pressure of the man vented into the bar room. Blood. So much of it. It had a hold on the Drow, as his mind struggled to keep control over the powers he utilized.

Indeed, every time he used something of such magnitude, he opened himself as a conduit to the demon within. Every word must be correct, every enunciation flawless, and his concentration unbroken. But then the Monk pulverized the foundation of the building, and Zakarius let his mind slip for the briefest hint of a second…

I forgot to save a bottle of that liquor…

It was all it took, his mind occupied by something other than the deadly task at hand, and the Demon took over with no notice. The result was a bloodcurdling bellow, like thousands of tortured souls in anger, never quite drowned out by the crumbling of the building. Timber and stone fell in, a cloud of carcinogenic dust wafting high into the sky. There was never silence, even as the last stone was rolling to the earth, the result would shift and rumble, never settling. The screams and hollering would start again as an ashen purple arm punched through a fallen wall, smashing through the glass pane. A soul. It was hungry. It would be sated or defeated. And it was coming.

It was still weak. For it had no soul to feed as it came into reality, but its ferocity and hunger went hand in hand, pulling forth the body of its host from the debris. The description was simple, for the personality that this Demon had was in no way vane; but his personality was not in question. The skin of Zakarius had gone completely black, still garbed with the soft black silk robe. His body was completely humanoid still, keeping every attribute of Zakarius, save his face. The face of what emerged was non-existent, featureless, blank skin pulled over where a jaw, nose, and eye sockets would be. But the roar was very real, from the very molecules in the air around him.

It stayed waist deep within the rubble, weary to advance, but its head fell back, far from cheated as arms opened. Another scream, piercing high into the sky as the very air rippled around him, enacting powers from its arsenal. Eyes sights were set upon the bright soul, retreating from the wreckage. Slowly it righted its vision, below releasing two blows with its fists into the earth, the resulting tremors easily heard and felt within a halfmile.

Chapter One: A bar full of strangers

There was no playing with this crazed group, having established this fact. With one of them melting into a pool of ooze, and the other swinging so hard that the severed arm flies ahead, with him following. It was, to say the least, obvious the time for peace was out of the window. The Drow felt that there were going to be fundamental differences between him and the Monk, for the taste of blood on his lips drove another part of him over the edge. Without warning, he pumped both fists into the air, in defiance to the rushing attacker, a beastial roar of hatred passing his snarled features. The arm went short, landing at his feet, disrupting the smoke, before something snatched it away into the mist.

The rushing man would find no luck this day, its heavy footsteps urging it on to the clouds surrounding Zakarius. The Drow purposefully receded, so his enemy would follow, inching backwards slowly. To say it worked was innapropriate in this situation, the frenzied man had nothing but murder on his mind, and would follow without beckon. But this one would get no farther than the very edge. Inches from the face of the Elf, as five, horned tip, tentacles rip through the haze. Two come from the left and right, each piercing and lodging into the bones of the man’s hips. Third and fourth came at an angle shoulder height, to pierce bicep. The fifth, would come straight down from overtop. The chitin stronger than steel, its wickedly sharp point piercing bone and brain matter as one.

No sooner they pierced bone all over the body, did they pull back tight. Having lodged in tight, all tendrils jerked tight, holding the being inches from Zakarius face. Its body was so frenzied that still now the muscle spasmed, as if still lurching to kill him, though the life was far gone from its eyes. Zakarius would stop, leaning forward slightly, his right hand rising to the nose of dead piece of meat, swiping at the blood.

“Such interesting results…” He whispered to himself, before all five tendrils of black alien flesh ripped outward, pulling all four appendages and the head from the torso with a sickening crunch, and a fountain of blood.

Chapter One: A bar full of strangers

His body was not his anymore, already having given in to the lust for battle at the first signs that it was inevitable. These men had their minds fogged by chems of some kind, though it was no care of his. Every pore of his body oozed his weapon of choice for this current situation. A herald to his current patron god, Tzeentch, Lord of Change.

The smoke curled and split, moving with eddies of air, wrapping around his form, pooling on the floor. Ah, yes, at his feet, this pool had grown larger over the fleeting seconds, growing in size until blotted out the floor beneath it. Within this small quagmire of but a few inches, something stirred, shifting static discharges popping and arcing throughout the small cloud. Zakarius spread his arms, as if welcoming the oncoming assailants, releasing more of this smoke in a billowing puff. This stuff would fall from him, hazing his figure from sight just as the brutes came forward.

As the boot of the first one disappeared into a thick patch of smoke, his whole body would go ridged, as a sound like multiple small detonations in quick succession rips through the air. The scent of scorched meat assaulted his nostrils immediately as white smoke oozed from the pores of the brute. His every action ceased as he stood, frozen. Sickly purple bolts of power arced between the man’s legs, the entry point of the trap, the man’s foot, was nothing but a charred black mess of matter, fused to the floor, as steaming fluids began to run from his pores.

Zakarius stood immobile amongst the smoke, arms still spread before his gaze ran over to the other attacker who drew near, wondering if this show of power would reach its addled mind.

Chapter One: A bar full of strangers

The haze of the liquor had all but abated as the glass was taken from him. The abruptness and strange nature of the man honestly caught Zakarius off guard, staring openly from beneath his hood, amber eyes taking in the stranger’s features as he went into a state of meditation. It was strange to find such traits in a world like this anymore, for he recognized the naivety of the man’s actions as of a learned man. Whether ignorant from solitude, or uncaring from confidence, he did not know, but he felt he would soon find out.

Then the sent hit him, raw and unbarred, but inches from his face. Up until now he would simply stare at the other man, not listening to the words of the other men, as they seemed disinterested as of late with him being there. So, when a being of ability or power feels unthreatened, he would go about his way with little care.

I.e. Zakarius here and now.

But the blood, acrid and metallic in his nose and on his tongue. It was spilled with malicious intent by the one who’s soul had the darker streak to it. This brought Zakarius back to the world at hand, eyes focusing upon the exiting man. The others approached him, for now their intended target was dead, they were not sated, as their senses were roused for violence. His every muscle was on alert, left hand having already fallen to the leather book at his waist. His lips moved silently, as his fingertips slipped through the leather, just passed his nails.
The Drow was silent, seemingly unmoving as they approached him and the other, his eyes closing. “So much life…” He whispered to himself, watching every footfall of each approaching man. His mind was alight with seemingly random words of different spells, keeping every syllable in mind as each beat of every heart hammered before him. Then, the strangest thing, light, lavender-hued smoke, drifted lazily from the hem of the man’s cloak, pooling slowly at his feet.
“Bar’s closing it seems…” He whispered halfheartedly to the man beside him, eyes opening once more. The white had given way to a soft pink, the glow too weak to even be noticed, yet they began to ooze the strange purple smoke, the tendrils wreathing slow circles around his body.

Chapter One: A bar full of strangers

This world, like so many others, had just what this … thing, loved.

Life,

It was in that one word, one could derive a thousand meanings. Love, spirit, survival… Hate, violence, war… Life was good. This planet had gone its own course, like millions before it, as a million others do now, and millions will on in time. So many paths, but this quaint little town was ripe for the pickings in many ways. This place had gone to the dogs, so to say, the strongest survive if being polite; but oh no, don’t do that here…
The man mused in his head as he supped from the smudged glass of dark liquid. The random brawls, bloodshed, smashed liquor bottles; it was second nature to this being, this… Drow Elf. All around he felt the very souls of the patrons within this particular bar of the wasteland, the very life secrets of the more weak willed out and open to his mind. But they were nothing but wasted time. He kept guarded of the man beside him; there was no reason, save then very air about him seemed foreign. Though Zakarius kept his guard about him at all times.

It was the liquid in this glass though, that had most of his attention, seemingly oblivious to the outside world as he brought the glass find parted violet lips. His eyes would roll just barely, letting the slightest hint of pleasure pass his hidden features. He came to this bar on this passing world for a drink, nothing more. No bloodshed, no souls for his patron Gods, no fighting. But this was life, and he knew his choice of establishments often exuded… life.

It was just then that he felt the air shift, the incessant drone of the establishment slowly ebbed away. Zakarius took solace in the liquid of his glass, which seemed to never empty as he drank. Leaning lightly over the large oak wood bar-front, upon his meager stool, he watched as the soul density of the bar withered to just a handful. There was the bartender, a meager sliver of life, worthy for nothing but sacrifice as a demon host, and then the other man, His soul was different, strong, bright, it hinted at the best strength one could hope for in this life; potential. Zakarius studied this as the bartender spoke, offering warnings of something that the Drow had no care for. His confidence in his current setting would seem arrogant to an onlooker.
But damn, he couldn’t get this drink off his mind, head falling back for a second to drain another glass. His hood falls back just slightly as he comes forward, eyes trained on the large door of the bar, his witch-sight having a hint of the incoming men. Deep amber eyes fell back to the wooden bar where his glass lay, feeling the eyes of the second patron upon him for a brief second. These souls that would enter were dark things, strong for your average man, but simple, brutal… they were grunts. But one of them hinted something more, like the “potential” possibility of the other man with him.
It was obvious the bartender was not happy with the current situation, and the new uniformed patrons did not appear to be here for a night out with the gang. The air was thick with tension, but that-he didn’t care for, more curious about the strange air patterns around the other stranger. But beyond all that, he couldn’t get over this drink! It was so sweet, burning his throat like strong amsec from Cattechan, yet it numbed its own burn, like elder berry wine of Redwall. But what was worse, his glass was empty, the minor enchantment upon the glass to keep it fuller had run its time.
The pack of men behind him stood still, and for a few precious seconds it was perfectly quiet. The fear felt by the bartender, the panic and sense of preservation the leaked from the masses that vacated so quickly, it was all lost upon Zakarius. Even the stranger beside him, despite so much of his body clothed, he could tell the man ready, the very current of the air around his body somehow calmer than that inches from him.
It was all lost on him, as his picked up the glass, only to set it down before the paled bartender, tapping it lightly for service.

Chapter One: A bar full of strangers

Name: Zakarius
Age: 204
Height: 6'1”
Weight: 275lbs
Build: Built more like a large Ork other than an Elf
Race: Drow
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Clothing-

Dominating his large form is an even larger cloak, its exterior a dark forest green, the alternate being the most lush of purple, the simple silks glittering with strange energies, seemingly always to shift.
Beneath that, he wore nothing upon his torso, his skin a deep violet, the perfect scape of his honed and chiseled form near perfection save thousands of scars in different sizes.
From his waist down the softest of black silks wrap around him, with multiple partitions and folds in flowing robe. This was as such for the freedom of movement… and the breeze.
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Accessories-
He was Spartan of all possessions, traveling with nothing but his clothing, and a small black book. It was wrapped simply in leather, with an ornate keylock upon the strap. This hangs by a leather thong upon his waist, just to the left.

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Abilities/Skills-

Zakarius is a mage, and that’s all that need be said. His abilities range far and around the scale as has his training in study and war. With the start of earthen lore from long ago realms, the elf swore his allegiance to life and nature, and with approval, he would learn of any and every piece of knowledge he could lay hands on,this naturally leading to many secrets of power.