[hider=1] [img]http://www.vainglorygame.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/05/KoshkaT3Flat.jpg[/img] "[i]They are nothing more than a foolish race of histrionic, hedonistic 'demigods' imprisoned within a perpetual state of crippling adolescence. These Revelrians treat the struggle between nations as if it were nothing more than a whimsical game where there are no winners or losers. Though their overall behavior is repulsive, their unconditional love for life and their unbridled kindness for all--even for those whom have committed grievous transgressions against them--is nigh-limitless and unrivaled.[/i]" -Anonymous [u][b]Understanding Revelrian Altruism[/b][/u] Whether it's tapping into their civilization's cavernous comprehension of astrological and biological engineering to fabricate cradle worlds for vagrant species, returning races extinction, or shielding trillions of aliens within the gilded confines of their illustrious ring world from sure destruction at the hands of some nefarious species with aspirations of conquest, Revelrians have an expansive, storied history of altering the woebegone "fates" of the galaxy's more inauspicious inhabitants into directions that promise significantly more favorable outcomes to befall them. Much of this bizarre and arguably maladaptive behavior has psychological underpinnings that are of the archetypical Revelrian. The generality of Revelry's inhabitants feel intrinsically obligated to ameliorate all suffering in the observable galaxy using any and all means at their disposal, but their insatiable lust to feel depended upon and venerated by a willing atonarage the being extoled by the spurned and ostracized of the galaxy for their exceedingly philanthropic and altruistic behavior towards those whom they perceive to be "less fortunate" than themselves. Being posthumans, Revelrians are impervious to diseases, do not tire, and lack the need for sustenance. J'Taar's Jocular Jackets: Iron Tycoon's chief engineering subroutine, J'Taar of Wyvernmarsh, found the cosplay outfits and stylized sweat wear of 21st century Earth particularly alluring, so he determined it fitting to ameliorate the initial designs with a plethora of sophisticated military technologies--both proven and experimental--so that their fearless transhuman and android wearers could efficiently and ruthlessly guard Revelry from the galaxy's more aggressive denizens while simultaneously looking overbearingly fetching and cuddly whilst doing it. Aside from augmenting their wearer's innate physical capabilities to metahuman levels, Jocular Jackets are outfitted with quantum displacement modules, active and passive stealth systems, and an underlining shield lattice that protects the suit and its owner from orthodox and unorthodox external threats. [/hider] [center][b]Opulent[/b] [img]https://i.imgur.com/t5NqbYl.jpg[/img] Age: N/A Weight: 1,251lb Height: 7’0ft /2.135 tall Gender: Female Race: Aeonian [/center] [b]General Description[/b] [i]The first Aeonian Magvun created. Gifted with a degree of intelligence that no magical construct should have, Opulent’s daunting size and the aura of “otherness” that she projects on a virtually perpetual basis are both somewhat diluted by her inviting smile and exotic, but quite arresting, visage. [/i] [hider=Species Description] [i]Lord Magvun Dimasca Klovanias was known throughout much of Zerul for two distinct things: his expertise in numerous subject areas and his surreal proficiency in magically sculpting rudimentary stone into masterful works of art. At first, Magvun was relatively content with producing marvelous examples of sculpture, most of them anthropomorphic in nature, for both himself and for numerous prestigious clients. He even occasionally utilized his talents in the magical arts to imbue these extraordinary artefacts with the gift of animation for both his own amusement and for those who could afford this additional feature. But it was not long before he began contemplating diverse ways of improving his creations. Magvun wanted them to have more “substance”, more “vibrancy”, beyond just simple locomotive capabilities and a miserable degree of intelligence comparable to that of a simpleminded dog. He yearned to fashion a work of such vivid detail, a creature capable of emoting such lifelike character, that it would be almost indistinguishable from an authentic sapient being. He was done with fancy parlor tricks. He wanted to play Gaia. And I was the first result of his hubris.[/i] -[b]Opulent to Tormen of the West[/b] While delving into the finer details of their artificial physiology and martial capabilities, one diminutive section of Magvun’s journal briefly states that, “[i]Combining the legendary tenacity and intelligence of a true undead entity with the herculean might of a quality wizard’s golem has produced a creature of almost inconceivable lethality...with these qualities only amplified further by the Waking Dreamer’s soul that dutifully inhabits the decayed core of each of these amaranthine creatures.[/i]” As undead, Aeonians feel no pain, likely boast the same mechanical indifference to primal fear as their reanimated cousins do, and are almost entirely proof against most customary diseases and poisons seen and used in Reniam today. Furthermore, all Aeonians possess fairly exaggerated weight-to-power ratios that differ noticeably between each individual of their lot, peeking somewhere around a staggering 5:1 for the most monolithic of the Aeonian constructs, a title held by Citadel the Trinity, to a comparatively weedy (yet still quite impressive) 3:1 ratio for the frailest of them, a position currently maintained by Opulent. This same variation scheme applies to most of their other attributes as well, such as their cognitive abilities, fortitude, Because each Aeonian differs from its brothers and sisters in both physical and magical capacity, size, and fighting form, there is no “one-size-fits-all” tactic any one person or group can use to effectively and efficiently dispatch one. Defeating Citadel the Trinity, for example, would likely require a sizable host of fighting men supported by both siege engines and a contingent of skilled war wizards should he ever elect to exact vengeance upon the land, while Sunder, a deadly pugilist gifted with the powers of a Warden and armed with a pair of battle cesti, would be best approached and contested at range. [/hider] [hider=Skills and Talents] Klavanias’ Veener: A synthetic covering for that all. Klavanias’ Veener is a reactive material that instantaneously alters its mechanical properties when subjected to certain external stresses. Although soft to the touch, Klavanias’ Veener becomes extremely rigid when placed under force (either struck violently by, say, a war hammer or Opulent was a moderately adept runic sorceress in life, but her soul’s infusion into the body of an Unshackled resulted. Aegis [b]Ward Absolute:[/b] [i]with a quick gesture of her hand, Opulent compels a fiery, completely opaque sphere of unbridled magical energy to explosively materialize into existence. The sphere instantaneously encapsulates a target, protecting the thing inside from most external assaults, but also preventing the shielded object from interacting with the outside world in turn. [/i] [i]Although its protective properties are undeniably impressive, Opulent is exceedingly hesitant to use Ward Absolute due to its grievously high energy demands and the danger that it poses to those near it unless a particularly dire situation necessities its use. [/i] Its base attributes, from its durability and energy cost to the tremendous heat that it radiates, are all impacted by the number of runes Opulent elected to activate prior to the spell’s manifestation, with each subquent rune effectively doubling its she uses when casting it. Using 3 runes when activating Ward Absolute is technically possible, and will undeniably produce a mystical barrier of unimaginable durability, but. + + -Horrifically energy inefficient, requiring 2 Aegis runes to be activate simteously. Opulent has been [b]Ward Infusion: [/b] Substitution: allows Opulent to instantaneously swap one target’s immediate spatial position with that of another. The dis [/hider] [hider=Possessions] [b]Magvun’s Research Notes:[/b] [i]the personal writings of Lord Klavanias. While Magvun intentionally took a considerable portion of the finer intricacies behind the construction and technical inner-workings of his Aeonians to the grave, this little brown book could still be a helpful resource for anyone who is interested in replicating his greatest accomplishment. Its queer symbols, weird formulas, perplexing equations, and poorly-drawn blueprints seem to be in no particular order. [/i] [b]Opulent’s Hooded Shawl:[/b] [i]an ornate, lengthy shawl made from an amalgamation of fine fabrics and exquisite animal furs. Although quite stylish, the shawl was also purchased by Opulent for its rudimentary “clandestine” attributes. It is toned in a mixture of darker earth colors with a vivacious collection of well-drawn black stencils, most of them depicting stylized busts of smaller Rodorian wildlife, dotting its shoulders, front, and rear, giving it character. Its voluminous hood does a respectable job of concealing much of Opulent’s face, though her prominent demon-like horns do protrude noticeably through two neatly cut slots that rest strategically on both sides of the hood. It does nothing at all to hide the twin cooling pinions that erupt from between each of her shoulder blades, unfortunately. [/i] [b]Leather Wrapping: [/b] [/hider] [Hider= Other Aeonians] [center][b]Citadel the Trinity[/b] [img]https://i.imgur.com/TjBXPHg.jpg[/img][/center] The final, and most destructive and technically sophisticated, Aeonian Lord Klavanias completed several years before his premature death. The notes on Citadel the Trinity's exact material composition and fighting abilities are annoyingly vague, hopelessly convoluted, or outright missing, but one quote however, a final account seemingly written in shock judging from the uncharacteristically poor penmanship of the passage, does shed a sliver of light on the late lord's greatest accomplishment: [i]A contingent of brigands, at least three dozen of them, made an attempt on my home today. Looking back, I didn’t blame that sorry lot for trying their luck at all: my place of residence, far from Zerul City, was seemingly unguarded, its walls low and easily surmountable by a few men armed with some spare climbing tools, the holding controlled by a single wizened man of rumored wealth and likely a few domestic servants as well, none of whom would have been especially skilled with sword or spell. As good a mark as any, I guess. Opulent was in Zerul City running errands on my behalf (no doubt being heckled at the front gates by those blasted halfwit guards again). Keen? The usual: probably playfully hunting wild game in some distant forest. Sunder and Ruin? Gone for three days now. They did that often. They’d be back eventually. They always came back. I didn’t know where Citadel was at the time, though. He had a tendency to journey to Mount Zerul under the cover of darkness to take up a comfortable position on one of His favorite cliffs. He'd just sit up there like some big puffed up falcon, sweeping his eyes across the landscape for hours on end as if in search of prey. I was in the main courtyard tending to one of my gardens when I noticed the first attacker’s head appear over the top of the wall adjacent to me. We awkwardly leered at each other for several moments, both speechless, my facial expression feeling gelid and stoic. And then a second head appeared to the right of the first. And then came the third. That’s when the three looked at one another, looked at me in almost perfect unison, and then looked at one another again to share a hearty laugh between themselves. Their hunch (or their informant) had been correct: one old man. Not a single guard in sight. Like I said: as good a mark as any. And that’s when the temblor began, Him running from wherever he had been with utmost tempo. A single metallic roar, gristly and supernatural, announced Citadel’s coming wrath, its dreadful report tearing free from the confines of His stony throat and licking across the surrounding land like rolling thunder. A brief, eerie pause in the tremors...and then I was flung to the ground as a plot of concrete to my right detonated in a hail of quality soil and hardened debris as He abruptly made landfall in the main courtyard with a resounding boom that rocked the entire property to its very core. Citadel leaped again from His crouched position, his body like some tightly-driven spring, this time propelling His entire bulk over the wall with astonishingly felid grace as the trio of men attached to it began shouting in utter disbelief at what was unfolding before them. He landed violently on the opposite side of the wall, cratering the earth beneath Him with his monumental mass, shaking a good portion of the estate’s foundation once again. The walls yielded to the tremor force this time, their wholes shifting and bucking and bending and cracking, the men thrown clear from them and onto the ground the very moment their doom made landfall right behind the rest of their fellows. I heard those virulent claws and fangs flay the very souls from the corporal bodies of the wicked that day. Their pleas for mercy rang hollow; their attempts to flee, futile. The bravest of them fought with roughshod fury and admirable zeal, but they could only watch in abject horror as their arrows and axes and spears were rebuffed by his impenetrable hide. Some even tried to scamper over the battered and beaten wall, frantic to reach what they perceived in that nightmarish instant as sanctuary while their fellows were being slaughtered like hapless lambs. None of them made it. They all died too. Horribly. ...well, all save for one: a young man with no more than sixteen years to his name. He looked a lot like me when I was in my youth. That boy hadn’t bothered at all to carefully suspend himself down into the main courtyard with any of his climbing kit. He just jumped from where he erupted, thick tears of terror streaming down a grimy face covered in blood that likely wasn’t his own as he flailed chaotically through the air directly towards me. But Citadel had moved with a level of rapidity that was altogether unbecoming of something so gargantuan, one blood-soaked claw and arm firmly clutching what was left of the wall for a bit of support, the other squarely reaching into the courtyard where I stood, his marvelous reptilian head and torso casting an overbearing shadow over a wide swath of whatever remained of my garden. And there, the scruff of his shirt pierced between the very tips of two of those vile claws, uninjured yet praying to every immortal being in the world and the planes beyond, was that lad. He was but scant inches away from my face, sobbing and pleading for his life. I could see the very color of his eyes, even. They were brown. "Citadel, it’s over,” I said. “You won. Now set him down. Gently.” The boy's nightmare stared at me with an expression of disgusted bewilderment etched across that granitic face of His. I knew what Citadel was thinking, too: that the adolescent trespasser caught in his grasp was an enemy of mine and, by extension, an enemy of His. The boy’s straightforward association with that sorry collective that lay broken and shattered just outside of my walls solidified this clear, observable fact. And because of that, he deserved to die. And yet [b]I[/b] wanted him to live. And that act of pity [b]repulsed [/b]Citadel to no end. But He did obey. He always did obey. Remorseless but loyal. That was Citadel. [/i] [/hider] Opulent, the first Aeonian ever created, was conceptualized and built by the Zerulian inventor and sculptor Magvun Damasca Kain roughly forty years ago. While she ended up costing Magvun a hefty fortune to research and develop (and even more time to perfect), Opulent justified her exquisite worth by functioning not only as his personal research assistant and manager of his estate, but also as a test bed for a series of revolutionary technologies and newfangled enchanting techniques that he would later fine-tune and subsequently use to produce four Aeonian constructs—each one more potent than its predecessor—over the course of several decades. While not originally designed for martial duty, Opulent is still a comparatively formidable entity. Whether [b]Capabilities [/b] Magvun was reclusive by nature, preferring the company of himself (and later his creations) over the company of others, and was perpetually paranoid of potential “intellectual bandits” from beyond the borders of his keep stealing his scientific work for themselves. To address this concern, Magvun abstained from employing the customary servants, carpenters, and other domestic working peoples who typically staffed a lord’s castle or estate, but instead used Opulent in their stead, designing her not as a dedicated combatant when he began theorizing the intricacies of her design and the components that he would need to make her creation a reality, but as a lone autonomous servant—his “Grand Stewardess”—who could administrate his entire home by not only commanding a detachment of cheaper, “lesser” constructs to do the laborious work Opulent herself was unable (or unwilling) to do, but by also maintaining an ethereal connection with Magvun’s heavily fortified domicile. Such a link permitted Opulent to quite literally motivate his entire keep to action as though it were an extension of her own body, opening doors, shuttering windows, and even dynamically perceiving the location of moving objects The Zerulian government’s recent acquisition of her deceased creator’s holdings has made Opulent’s magical union with Magvun’s home more or less defunct. She was, however, able to evolve a rather strong command of the magical arts during the time she spent serving him, particularly focusing on spell [b]Physical Capabilities [/b] >The strength discrepancies between individual Aeonians varies widely, but Magvun did conclude that Opulent, at an intermediate power threshold, boasted a similar strength-to-weight ratio to that of a relatively fit and exceedingly well-nourished Rodorian man who ranked among the elite in measures of physicality. During initial testing of her locomotive faculties while at the aforementioned intermediate power threshold, Opulent was documented by Magvun as possessing immense limb and appendage strength for something of her dimensions, crushing an intact human skull with her right hand in short order, hurling a spherical mass of cast iron weighing 200 pounds (equating to 1/8th her own body’s mass) some ninety feet from a static standing position of his choosing with one arm, and hauling a 1,500 stone pillar over her shoulder a distance of 1,000 feet without exhibiting any external signs of magical, mechanical, or biological fatigue. >Opulent does not eat, sleep, drink, or even breathe. she does sap the life energies from any living creatures that happen to be close to her in order to replenish her own "life force" (much like other True Undead). Opulent is fully capable of controlling the intensity of this, but >Memsium contains [b]Magical Capabilities [/b] >Opulent knows a three-syllable phrase in the demonic cipher that, when shouted aloud, causes a completely opaque sphere of unbridled magical energy to explosively materialize into existence around a target of her choosing. The sphere functions as a shield, protecting the thing inside from most external assaults, but also consequently preventing the shielded object from interacting with the outside world. While the protective qualities of the sphere are thoroughly herculean (it was capable of deflecting a single full-force downward claw strike from Citadel the Trinity, an Aeonian construct matches an adsolicent black dragon in size), the crushing explosive wave of pressure that follows its invocation will either kill or grievously wound anyone caught within 30 feet of its manifestation point. Naturally, tougher and larger beings will be able to better resist this wave then smaller ones. It's also horrendously inefficient for reasons Opulent has yet to deduce. Even her own potent soul will be left in tatters after maintaining it for just three seconds. >Opulent [b]Possessions[/b] Magvun’s Research Notes: the personal writings of Lord Klavanias. While he intentionally took a considerable portion of the finer intricacies behind the construction and technical inner-workings of his Aeonians to the grave, this little brown book could still be a helpful resource for an especially talented mage who is interested in replicating his greatest accomplishments for his or her own use. Its queer symbols, weird formulas, perplexing equations, and poorly-drawn blueprints seem to be in no particular order. Opulent suspects that it is infused with some sort of enchantment, though the specific identity of said enchantment currently eludes her. Oh, and it smells faintly of piann Odd. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- [center][b]Opulent[/b][/center] [center][img]https://zbrushtuts.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/04/Qmaera-The-Cursed-Queen-3D-by-Alexej-Peters-660x330.jpg[/img][/center] [i]My lord and master, Magvun Dimasca Klovanias, was known throughout much of Zerul for two distinct things: his expertise in numerous subject areas and his surreal proficiency in magically sculpting rudimentary stone into masterful works of art. He was relatively content with producing marvelous examples of sculpture at first--most of them anthropomorphic in nature--for both himself and for numerous prestigious clients. He even occasionally utilized his talents in the magical arts to imbue these extraordinary things with the gift of animation for both his own amusement and for those who could afford this additional feature. But it was not long before he began contemplating diverse ways of improving his creations. Magvun wanted them to have more “substance”, more “vibrancy”, beyond just simple locomotive capabilities and a miserable degree of intelligence comparable to that of a simpleminded dog. He yearned to fashion a work of such vivid detail, a creature capable of emoting such lifelike character, that it would be almost indistinguishable from an authentic sapient being. He was done with fancy parlor tricks. He wanted to create life. He wanted to play Gaia. He ultimately failed. Nevertheless, it was that "failure" that gifted me a second chance at life. And for that I am eternally grateful.[/i] -[b]Opulent[/b] [b]General Description[/b] The first Aeonian Magvun ever created. Gifted with a degree of intelligence that no magical construct should have, Opulent’s daunting size and the aura of “otherness” that she projects on a virtually perpetual basis are both somewhat diluted by her inviting smile and exotic, but quite arresting, visage. As an Aeonian, Opulent represents a technical fusion of the legendary tenacity and intelligence of a true undead entity with the herculean might of a quality human-sized wizard’s golem, with these qualities only amplified further by the Waking Dreamer’s soul that dutifully inhabits the decayed core nestled firmly within the center of her artificial shell. Opulent is additionally unable to feel pain, she does not need to eat, sleep, or drink, readily boasts the same robotic indifference to primal fear just as her reanimated (and much fleshier) cousins do, and is entirely proof against most customary diseases and poisons seen and used in the world today. Opulent's skeletal superstructure is cast from a combination of conventional and exotic materials, namely sartal (which makes up her joints) and high quality penin steel, which enables her to not only resist physical damage to an astoundingly high degree, but also permits her to execute superhuman feats of physical strength as well. Magvun personally documented this impressive measure of physicality when, during initial testing of Opulent's locomotive faculties, he tasked her with crushing an intact human skull with her right hand, hurling a spherical mass of cast iron that weighed 1/8th of her total body mass some ninety feet from a static standing position of his choosing with one arm, and hauling a 2,500 pound stone pillar over her shoulder a distance of 1,000 feet. Opulent's "skin" is constructed from an arcane material called "mimesium", which was invented by Magvun in order to grant his creations a much more lifelike aesthetic. As its name suggest, mimesium is mimetic in nature, and is unique among many man-made materials for its odd ability to adopt the color, texture, and rigidity rating of any material that its inert form comes into physical contact with. Opulent's mimesium skin covering is surprisingly cold to the touch despite the large amount of waste heat that her body produces, and for harboring the ability to slowly self-repair whenever it is damaged. [b]Skills [/b] >Telekinesis Magvun was quite the social recluse in life, preferring the company of himself (and later his creations) over the company of others, and was perpetually paranoid of potential “intellectual bandits” from beyond the borders of his keep stealing his scientific work for themselves. To address this concern, Magvun abstained from employing the customary servants, carpenters, and other domestic working peoples who typically staffed a lord’s castle or estate, but instead used Opulent in their stead, designing her not as a dedicated combatant when he began theorizing the intricacies of her design and the components that he would need to make her creation a reality, but as a lone autonomous servant of unwavering loyalty—his “Grand Stewardess” as he often affectionately called her—who would administrate his entire home by not only commanding a detachment of “lesser” constructs to do the laborious work Opulent herself was unable (or unwilling) to do, but by also maintaining an ethereal connection with Magvun’s domicile. Such a link permitted Opulent to quite literally motivate his entire keep to action as though it were an extension of her own body, telekinetically opening doors, shuttering windows, and even dynamically perceiving the movement of guests within Magvun's halls. The Zerulian government’s recent acquisition of her deceased creator’s holdings has made Opulent’s magical union with Magvun’s home more or less defunct unfortunately, but she was able to retain a fair bit of her understanding of telekinesis, and still uses this power to this day to make her life, and perhaps even the lives of her friends and allies, a little easier. Why get up and grab that pint of ale when you can [i]float [/i]it to you? >Healing Opulent. She is capable of magically mending abrasions and lacerations, mending with enough effort can even repair. She also demonstrates a fairly rudimentary understanding of the apothecary arts, specializing mostly in various salves, oils, and teas that assist in curing mild to sever pains, clotting the blood, and aiding particularly restless patients (such as Magvun who suffered from sever insomnia) in gaining a good night's rest. Opulent feels that Zerul City offers. With Other Aeonians [center][b]Citadel the Trinity[/b] [img]https://i.imgur.com/TjBXPHg.jpg[/img][/center] The final, and most destructive and technically sophisticated, Aeonian Lord Klavanias completed several years before his premature death. The notes on Citadel the Trinity's exact material composition and fighting abilities are annoyingly vague, hopelessly convoluted, or outright missing, but one quote however, a final account seemingly written in shock judging from the uncharacteristically poor penmanship of the passage, does shed a sliver of light on the late lord's greatest accomplishment: [i]A contingent of brigands, at least three dozen of them, made an attempt on my home today. Looking back, I didn’t blame that sorry lot for trying their luck at all: my place of residence, far from Zerul City, was seemingly unguarded, its walls and easily surmountable by a few men armed with some spare climbing tools, the holding controlled by a single wizened man of rumored wealth and likely a few domestic servants as well, none of whom would have been especially skilled with sword or spell. As good a mark as any, I guess. Opulent was in Zerul City running errands on my behalf (no doubt being heckled at the front gates by those blasted halfwit guards again). Keen? The usual: probably playfully hunting wild game in some distant forest. Sunder and Ruin? Gone for three days now. They did that often. They’d be back eventually. They always came back. I didn’t know where Citadel was at the time, though. He had a tendency to journey to Mount Zerul under the cover of darkness to take up a comfortable position on one of His favorite cliffs. He'd just sit up there like some big puffed up falcon, sweeping his eyes across the landscape for hours on end as if in search of prey. But he wasn't there today. That was concerning. I was in the main courtyard tending to one of my gardens when I noticed the first attacker’s head appear over the top of the wall adjacent to me. We awkwardly leered at each other for several moments, both speechless, my facial expression feeling gelid and stoic. And then a second head appeared to the right of the first. And then came the third. That’s when the three looked at one another, looked at me in almost perfect unison, and then looked at one another again to share a hearty laugh between themselves. Their hunch (or their informant) had been correct: one old man. Not a single guard in sight. Like I said: as good a mark as any. And that’s when the temblor began, Him running from wherever he had been with utmost tempo. A single metallic roar, gristly and supernatural, announced Citadel’s coming wrath, its dreadful report tearing free from the confines of His stony throat and licking across the surrounding land like rolling thunder. A brief, eerie pause in the tremors...and then I was flung to the ground as a plot of concrete to my right detonated in a hail of quality soil and hardened debris as He abruptly made landfall in the main courtyard with a resounding boom that rocked the entire property to its very core. Citadel leaped again from His crouched position, his body like some tightly-driven spring, this time propelling His entire bulk over the wall with astonishingly felid grace as the trio of men attached to it began shouting in utter disbelief at what was unfolding before them. He landed violently on the opposite side of the wall, cratering the earth beneath Him with his monumental mass, shaking a good portion of the estate’s foundation once again. The walls yielded to the tremor force this time, their wholes shifting and bucking and bending and cracking, the men thrown clear from them and onto the ground the very moment their doom made landfall right behind the rest of their fellows. I heard those virulent claws and fangs flay the very souls from the corporal bodies of the wicked that day. Their pleas for mercy rang hollow; their attempts to flee, futile. The bravest of them fought with roughshod fury and admirable zeal, but they could only watch in abject horror as their arrows and axes and spears were rebuffed by his impenetrable hide. Some even tried to scamper over the battered and beaten wall, frantic to reach what they perceived in that nightmarish instant as sanctuary while their fellows were being slaughtered like hapless lambs. None of them made it. They all died too. Horribly, either crushed in Citadel's titanic grip or torn apart by the serrated fangs that lined the inner confines of his huge maw. ...well, all save for one: a young man with no more than sixteen years to his name. He looked a lot like me when I was in my youth. That boy hadn’t bothered at all to carefully suspend himself down into the main courtyard with any of his climbing kit. He just jumped from where he erupted, thick tears of terror streaming down a grimy face covered in blood that likely wasn’t his own as he flailed chaotically through the air directly towards me. But Citadel had moved with a level of rapidity that was altogether unbecoming of something so gargantuan, one blood-soaked claw and arm firmly clutching what was left of the wall for a bit of support, the other squarely reaching into the courtyard where I stood, his marvelous reptilian head and torso casting an overbearing shadow over a wide swath of whatever remained of my garden. And there, the scruff of his shirt pierced between the very tips of two of those vile claws, uninjured yet praying to every immortal being in the world and the planes beyond, was that lad. He was but scant inches away from my face, sobbing and pleading for his life. I could see the very color of his eyes, even. They were brown. "Citadel, it’s over,” I said. “You won. Now set him down. Gently.” The boy's nightmare stared at me with an expression of disgusted bewilderment etched across that granitic face of His. I knew what Citadel was thinking, too: that the adolescent trespasser caught in his grasp was an enemy of mine and, by extension, an enemy of His. The boy’s straightforward association with that sorry collective that lay broken and shattered just outside of my walls solidified this clear, observable fact. And because of that, he deserved to die. And yet I wanted him to live. And that act of pity repulsed Citadel to no end. But He did obey. He always did obey. Savage but loyal; violent yet lawful. An unforgiving bastion of good that shielded the weak and meek from the strong and oppressive with bestial zeal. That was my Citadel.[/i]