Tancuras

Death's Gifts

Sig

"I'm Joel, by the way," said the girl with the ring on her neck. Sig made to introduce himself but was quickly drowned out by another body entering the room. Then, another. It was quickly becoming crowded in the stretcher bay, each new face sharing qualities with the last, looking beaten, tired. Each of them had an aura of wrongness, something Sig could only compare to a computer glitch, as if the very air around them was broken. He shook his head. Being critically injured made everything weird, that was all.

It was true, it seemed - everyone in the room had been clinically deceased at some point very recent to that day. He thought it was odd, putting everyone in the same room, but he recalled seeing that sort of thing on the internet in the past. Groups of people who had near-death experiences, coming back as different people, some claiming to have visions or see spirits and stuff like that.

One of the other patients spoke, breaking Sig from his thoughts. "What is this," she said. "A part of the Make-A-Wish foundation?" The girl was blonde, with several piercings around her face, looking very punk-rock. Sig barked a tense laugh at her quip.

A pressure on his ears suddenly set them to ringing. An odd sensation crept upon his skin. He realized all movement in the air had stopped, and everything was silent, like a mute button was pressed on life.

He then realized he couldn't breathe.

Sig sat up in bed, mouth agape, desperate for air, clinging to the bed's railing as he tried everything to get his lungs to work. Despite all his efforts, his breath only left his throat in a muffled wheeze, unable to find its way back in. His veins surged with adrenaline. His grip on the railing crested and its steel bars bent like rubber.

He felt a strange sensation flood from his hand. The lights in the room began to flicker. He watched the screens on the vital monitors burn out one after another. Then, all the lightbulbs shattered silently, raining glass and darkness into the room below.

Sig threw himself out of bed, his legs giving out beneath him as he fell to his hands and knees. He scrambled for a way out, a way to get air. Something. Anything.

Endless

Just wanted to let everyone know I'm still here! Just busy the past few days with work-related travel. I'll start working on my post and character opinions.

Death's Gifts

Sorry! I just spent the last 48 hours driving a considerable distance and then recovering. Will post soon!

Death's Gifts

@Inertia DO IT. Bring on the PAIN.

Death's Gifts

I'm good with whatever the OP is good with.

Death's Gifts

@Tackytaff C'MON don't leave us hanging here!

Death's Gifts

@Inertia Yeah I was thinking the same thing.

Transmission

Philosophy. It's all fun and games until someone realizes the nature of the universe and decides to stop moving until they expire.

Welcome, @octopus!

Endless

Reika

_{Reika | 25 | Human}

_{A P P E R A N C E :}

Reika is slender and muscular, standing tall for a human at six and a half feet. A mane of long black hair is often kept loosely tied back on his scalp, and his face is kept clean-shaven. His eyes, dimly amber and disinterested, are narrow, creased, and tired. Reika has straight, angular facial features, and pale skin marred with dirt and old blood. He can usually be seen wearing the loose, flowing garb that is traditional in his tribe, bright clothes since faded and tattered, with a brown hooded cloak, a plain sword belt, and a pair of leather shoes bound with cord against his shins.

M I N D :

Reika comes from a clan that worships battle and holds a high standard of honor. Such honor comes with a strict code: one should not kill unjustly, one should find peace in the way of the sword, and one should not fear death. However, Reika was born cursed with the clan's most disdainful aspect: Reika was born with overwhelming, uncontrollable wrath. He will generally attempt to maintain his clan's doctrine of honor, but that doctrine quickly slips away in the face of threat or insult. Otherwise, he is typically thoughtful, inquisitive and somewhat detached, but, being a still-youthful man, is prone to competitiveness and arrogance as well. His tribe is primitive, and so he does not know many things about the world at large. He does not speak the common tongue entirely fluently, and has a strange sense of humor, seeming to often misinterpret what others are saying for something amusing. Reika holds surprisingly existential views on life, leading to baffling behavior at times, but equally as often can lead to bouts of wisdom.

_{H I S T O R Y:}

Reika's people are a nomadic tribe travelling freely within Nurban's southwestern grasslands. The tribe existed close to nature, self-sufficiently taming and feeding off the land. A small tribe, they were mostly untouched by the Endless, though they pay their tribute when required to maintain their freedom.
Among the grasslands were several other tribes, and whenever their paths met, feuding was inevitable. One point of conflict stood taller than the rest: the sword of the Wind Spirit, Sanmeogan. When Reika was seventeen years of age, his tribe possessed the sword of worship, and another tribe sought to take it. Reika's people were ultimately defeated in that battle and Sanmeogan was taken, and though the tribes' collective code of honor prevented any needless casualties, the humiliation was too great for Reika to bear. Reika followed the other tribe back to their dwelling, and whilst they celebrated, stole the sword back.
At the edge of the dwelling, steps away from returning home, Reika heard a warrior boasting about the victory. Something snapped in his mind. He drew Sanmeogan from its sheath, stalked back to the dwelling, and slaughtered everyone in sight with the Wind Spirit's power.
Sanmeogan was tainted on that day. The spirit dwelling within the sword became hungry, craving blood, the wind aura around it taking on the color of that which it desired. Reika, disgraced, knew he could never go back to the village. After wandering for a time, he offered himself to the Second Legion, Sanmeogan in hand.

_{M O D U S O P R E R A N D I:}

Reika is often dispatched to the front lines, wherein his specialty lies: anti-personnel, slaughter-en-masse. Being an expert and agile swordsman, he is at his strongest in single combat, but Sanmeogan's power lends him terrible abilities. By using his own blood, or the blood of his enemies, Reika can propel forward blades of crimson wind so sharp they can slice apart several fully-armored men at once. Beyond this ability, Reika has little use in the field, being not a man of strategy nor possessing any particular technical skills, though he is also a capable hunter.

_{O P I N I O N S O N O T H E R S}

@neogreggory Arthur Wick: Arthur's sense of honor and duty was immediately admirable for Reika. Reika knows him best from the occasional sparring session, and enjoys pestering the man whenever he can catch Arthur in one of his usual melancholy dispositions.

@Virgil Myaenthar'Sul: Reika did not know what the small creature was, but was deeply resentful of the way it skittered around the battlefield, cowering behind a crossbow. He could recall kicking such a creature several times in the past, but could not be certain it was the same one.

@Lexicon Magatha Toil: When Reika first saw the demon as she made her way through the encampment, he was visibly unsettled by her appearance. The horns of a beast, eyes aglow like a cat's - she seemed to manifest from the stories elders told the children to put them to bed at night. Her gaze locked at his as he stood in the throng of legionnaires, white-knuckle grip on his sword, before she moved away. Later in the night, Reika would learn that the demon's name was Mags, and that she regarded her fellow soldiers amicably, joining in their merriment and on occasion drinking them under the table. Reika chanced a conversation with the demon, which carried pleasantly, and decided afterward that she was not very different from most others, for a demon. Still, he could not help but continue to watch her warily whenever she was around. After their first battle together, a quick battle in which Reika was able to use the full extent of Sanmeogan's slaying power, he had seldom seen Mags again. She seemed to be avoiding him, but it made little difference to him. He was glad to be rid of her.

@Iuniper Aeudla Vesnat: Reika had always been drawn to the elven woman. He had felt a kinship toward her, though whether it was this kinship or simply lust that drove his attraction he was not certain. She was definitely comely, as was true of most elvenkind. She seemed similar to him in many ways, though his own attempts at conversation were usually met with some cryptic response or just a penetrating gaze.

@Drunken Conquistador Hanir: Reika found Hanir interesting. He seemed as self-obsessed as a woman before matrimony, covering his skin with strange powder, seldom seen away from a mirror. He also seemed to be searching for acknowledgement where there was none to be found. He was another one to pester, easily roused by small gestures and mannerisms.

@Athinar Andrea Albane: She was an arrogant woman. Stunningly beautiful, stunningly powerful. She danced to death's song on the battlefield, but her movements held no art, only efficiency. She fought for the wrong reasons, and it infuriated Reika. Though he was certain he could stand against any other he had met in a duel, Andrea consistently outmatched him. She would then goad him on, telling him to become stronger. She was insufferable.

Reika would sometimes find himself deep in thought, wondering why Andrea angered him so. Perhaps she simply reflected something he hated within himself, a killer's instinct, a bloodthirst, the fires of wrath that would one day consume him.

@Dark Wind Tristanya Aurelain: The white-haired one held the likeness of a witch. She was cold and scheming, hidden thoughts lighting up her eyes wherever she looked. As lovely as she was to look at, there was something wrong about her, as if the wind itself died at her skin. He could feel Sanmeogan burning in its sheath any time he looked at her. That in itself put Reika off of any cordial feelings.

@Dogematix Marcus Vantiri: The makeshift cook reminded Reika of his fast-fading youth, kindling feelings of his boyhood, of restless adventure and carefree days spent carousing with his friends, pursuing women, getting caned by the elders and galloping aimlessly across the plains. It was a far cry from the soldier's life.

Marcus was no longer a rookie, but being young in his years, Reika treated him like one, occasionally hiding his weapons in horse droppings or filling his tent with pigeons. It did not appear Marcus returned the affections. He regarded Reika indifferently at best.

Death's Gifts

Sig

Sig smiled at the girl's rebuttal. It was what he was hoping for. Despite the circumstance, it seemed her sense of humor was still there. He looked down at his hand, and another foreign voice called out from across the room.

"Hey," it was a young man's voice, coated with the hoarseness familiar of a the other hospital subjects. "What exactly did the nurse mean about special cases?"

Sig paused. Special cases? he thought. Was he referring to the three of them in the room? Was there anything particularly special about being stupid enough to be struck by lightning?

He remembered something, something one of the doctors had told him when he first woke up. It was fuzzy, and he could have been dreaming, but he thought he remembered them saying that his heart had been stopped. It had been stopped for some extent of time.

Over twelve hours, Sig thought. I think that's what I remember, but it doesn't seem right. Is that even possible?

"Did..." Sig said, struggling to finish the thought. "Did you guys die?"