Hiya, AChronum here! Although I'm relatively new to rping, I have plenty of writing experience and love trying new genres and styles. I absolutely love high magic fantasy RPs and am pretty much willing to do anything so long as I can create a charaxter, not play an existing one, and develop lots and lots of backstory! I'm perfectly comfortable with all mature themes as well, although smut for smut's sake is out of the question.
Interested in an RP? Send me a PM and have a magically marvelous day!
Artie watched Mary like a hawk. It wasn’t he didn’t trust her but they’d only been taught theories and memory magic of any kind was a tricky bit of magic. He wouldn’t let go of his twin through the entire process, even as Mary pulled the memory out. He kept deathly still, his wand pressed between his hand and the spot he was holding his brother after putting him under the Bewitched Sleep. He was terrified to move, catching himself holding his breath, as he prayed to every God and Goddess his parents spun stories in hopes that something would make sure this worked.
He couldn’t help his thoughts flitting back to his own death. It was… unnerving. It felt like a nightmare but seeing it come from his own twin’s mind was horrific. The fanged blade flashed in his mind and he couldn’t suppress the shudder that ran through him. What was Chimera? Was it a spell? Was it a group like the death eaters? And why were they tied up and being killed? Why did Apollo get this in his head? Artie felt overwhelmed suddenly and curled around his brother protectively. He wouldn’t let anyone break his spell on Apollo until they got to school. Everyone knew Dumbledore was the only wizard you-know-who feared. The headmaster would know what to do. Apollo would be safe for now.
As they contemplated their decision making, the pair could hear a faint screeching of someone, a crack tearing through the air and then the sound of wood and metal being torn viciously apart.
The reflections meanwhile turned on their heels and sulked back through the forest. If Eris and Max decided to follow, the reflections walked away from the posts without looking back. The path they made wove through the stunted growth, larger and larger bare patches and withered, shriveled shrubs the longer they followed, until only sad excuses of trees remained.
Eventually, the reflections led them to another clearing but this one was completely void of any life but them. A marble pedestal sat in the center and a ceramic skull watched them with obsidian set eyes. As soon as they passed the trees, Eris would be able to see again. As the reflections walked closer to the pedestal, they changed. A blade appeared in Eris’ hand, made of pure obsidian, and an obsidian clawed glove was on the other. Max meanwhile looked similar except now, he had seven metal obs circling him the size of his head. Each orb was a different color and were carved with intricate symbols. They touched the skull and vanished with a sigh from Eris’ reflection and a tired groan from Max’s.
“A prize you wish and prize you’ll get when the demons of others you completely vanquish. Any trick and any way, to win the fight and save the day, you may employ but don’t forget, more often than not it’s simpler than this. A hand you lay upon my head and into others you’ll fall instead.”
In the distance, the pair would hear a muted crack and the even fainter sounds of wood and metal protesting as they’re torn.
The path south, if they choose to take it, is an easy winding path that follows a bend in a river for a short while before diverging again. The directions Lilie found eventually led them to a large meadow tucked away inside the forest. It was clearly well cared for, the growths even and well maintained and flowers only grew in an even circle just past the tree line. In the center stood a harp that started playing as soon as they stepped across the flower line. A breeze blew suddenly and all the pair would be able to smell was the ocean. The harp’s music was soft and sweet, three simple cords repeating periodically. Words were carved into its front.
“Sweet mage, sweet mage, listen carefully. This melody is your saving grace from all ignominy. Beware the words of careful thoughts crafted with you in mind as chains to bring you down to drown in theirs lives. But if faith you have your companion keeps intentions pure and simple sweet, speak my magic with these cords three and see your faith paid off in sleep.” Beneath it, there was a three phrase incantation.
Little changed for the two at their tables. As the blue walls shrunk in every closer, their voices sounded most distant by the minute.
Varis shrugged the jacket on again, immediately reaching out for Aaron. “Well, come along. I’m not walking myself to this next challenge again. Clearly, it’s a necessary evil to stand on this… dirt while we are contemplating these inane challenges but I will be damned if I walk if I do not need to.” Varis started with a huff. Something felt odd beneath his fingertips, the fabric of his cloves suddenly quite different.
“I swear if Ryner’s little parlor trick ruined my gloves…” Varis started muttering as he went to pull them off but he trained off. All he felt was his finger when he tried to pinch the tips of the gloves. He tried again with the same results, turning away from Aaron instinctively to shield his hands from Aaron’s sight. He tried to find any part of them but only traced the grid-like scars across his fingers and palm. A little bit of them remained around his wrists. His little episode earlier clearly did damage to more than just the trees. He shoved his hands in his pockets and turned back to Aaron. This was… a problem. He couldn’t let the boy see his hands, nor any of the other vampires, so he’d have to have the boy guide him,
“On second thought,” Varis kept his voice as even as he could despite the bubble of panic rising in his throat as he tried to push his hands further into his pockets. “It seems you’ll be guiding me. If I so much as stumble even once, I’ll assign more lines and dock a future free day from you. Now let’s hurry up.”
The pair continued through the forest, all Varis wanted to do was bury Ryner in a very, very, very deep hole just for the pleasure of watching her dig herself out and then start again when he kicked her back into it. A few centuries of that might ease some of the… frustrations he was currently experiencing.
As they continued, the plant life around them faded away and withered, leaving barren patches behind. The trees shrunk as they reached out for the ground instead of the sky and what did manage to grow was stunted and small. Aaron would become aware of clones of Varis and himself flanking them as they walked, Aaron’s typical court smile on his face but his eyes were red and puffy and his body was tense, his grip on Dawn leaving his knuckles white. Varis’ reflection was impassive, void of any emotion. Blood had dried around his mouth and across his clothes though he clearly didn’t care. A quiver of arrows were attached to his back, each tipped with an obsidian arrowhead and a pair of curved daggers sat on his hips. Aaron, with his historical training, would recognize those as blades the vampires and humans developed against werewolves, specially made to pass through their thick muscle easily and then the curved portion would tear out the innards with agonizing efficiency. Varis’ reflection caught Aaron’s eye and it misstepped for a moment before trying to speak.
But they hit the clearing. The reflection’s attention immediately snapped back to the skull in the center. Varis would get his vision back. Max and Eris’ stood at the skull, looking at where their reflections had vanished just before the other’s intruded. Aaron and Varis’ reflection made their way to the skull. Aaron touched it and vanished.
However, Varis’ reflection struggled against the pull. His hand hovered above the skull as its eyes glowed brighter and brighter. Varis’ reflection looked around and although he couldn’t be heard, he was clearly swearing. His hand inched closer and the skull vibrated, shaking the podium. His back was to Aaron and Varis so he stared at Max. He mouthed something slowly at him and then his hand touched the skull. He vanished. The skull settled but there was a crack where Varis’ reflection touched. The same words rang out.
“A prize you wish and prize you’ll get when the demons of others you completely vanquish. Any trick and any way, to win the fight and save the day, you may employ but don’t forget, more often than not it’s simpler than this. A hand you lay upon my head and into others you’ll fall instead.”
Eris would recognize the word Varis’ reflection mouthed: Coin.
At first, Maddie could at least see through whatever had her trapped. She could see Amaris trying to reach her, she could see Ari trying to reach her, and see the Serpent. She heard the instructions and sighed in relief even as she tried to hold her hand against the crack. It helped a little but not much. It was just a higher stakes version of 2 truths and a lie. Easy. Amaris just had to figure out which was the lie and they’d get out of this mess.
Maddie froze when suddenly the walls of the barrier turned solid white and she couldn’t see the Countess anymore. She couldn’t hear anything, she couldn’t see anything, and another crack formed a little higher on another wall, letting even more water in. She used her other hand to try and plug it, about as unsuccessfully as the first one.
“Ari?” She shouted as she panicked that the countess had somehow been taken away or worse, left. She couldn’t hear Ari anymore even though she could hear the damn snake―She knew this was a terrible idea, she knew the snake was fucking evil!―earlier. “Ari, I really hope you’re still out there because I have water coming in faster! Figure out the lie, please! I’ve only got some many hands to stop the water!”
Amaris would hear Maddie talking but the words would be a little warped and distant and seemingly coming from all around her at the same time.
Physical Description: Hiroshi is relatively easy to miss at first glance. Shorter than most of his peers, Hiroshi barely reaches 5’ 4” and keeps a lean frame from daily workouts and regular time at his family’s dojo. He has black hair that he lets grow out just long enough for him to tie up when he practices and piercing blue eyes that he got from his dad’s european heritage. Unfortunately, he inherited his mother’s fair complexion that demands to stay indoors or it burns immediately. He usually keeps a few tubes of sunscreen handy in his bag just in case.
Personality Description: Hiroshi is blunt and believes a direct and honest approach is the best approach to any social interaction. He has little tolerance for drama and gets easily riled up when people involve him in it. If they’re pulling him in, they better expect a solution, not a comforting ear.
He excels at first impressions, his family instilling that much into him at least, and most people walk away thinking Hiroshi is a responsible level headed teenager but they would be incredibly wrong. Hiroshi is the friend that 100% supports kicking your bully into the dirt and curb stomping them without telling the teacher, that is already halfway out the door when you ask for a snack at 3am, and shows up to help you break out after curfew if you want to hang out. He responds to things instinctively and quickly, rarely thinking things all the way through before heading out.
That isn’t to say he doesn’t have more than a few insecurities. His biggest one is his height, or lack thereof, and if he is pushed too far on the issue, he’ll show off exactly what it means to be the heir to the Najira dojo. After all, they can’t tell his height if they’re face down in the dirt. But there are other things too. He collects soft, cute things, particularly in pink and purple, but hoards them privately. He has difficulty remembering people in the first few meetings so he introduces himself as Damien at school and Hiroshi at home so he knows based on how they greet him, where he knows them from.
Bio Description:
Hiroshi Damien Najira was born on a freezing October night in Shinhidaka, Hokkaido, one hundred miles from his mother’s ancestral home. Emika Najira was the second child of the master of the Najira Dojo, a famous training facility for Japanese olympians, athletes, and martial artists. The family claimed they were direct descendants from one of the original ninja of old times and every child is rigorously trained in their practice and are expected to serve in the Japanese Self Defense Forces in some capacity or another. Emika was no different, joining the JSDF when she was 18 and qualifying to enter the Directorate for Signals Intelligence two years later. She remained in the DSF for another five years, two over those overseas as part of a collaboration team with the U.N. intelligence community, before she let her contract with the JSDF expire.
When she returned, Damien Johnson followed her. Damien Johnson grew up in London proper, attending all his schooling in local boarding schools, until he graduated with a finance degree from Oxford university. He was a hot shot financial executive from a family well known for their political and medical accomplishments and he had all the intents to add financial into the family portfolio as well. Damien was a few years older than Emika but hopelessly smitten and he followed her back from England to Japan without a second thought.
He’d done his research. They’d talked about taking their relationship beyond where they were and when they reached the Najira family home, he asked for her hand in the traditional method. Her father had been originally set against the relationship, since he’d just found out barely a month before, but seeing his dedication changed his heart and he gave it the blessing on one condition: the children take the Najira family name. It worked perfectly into their plans. Emika never intended to give up her last name and they’d decided when they had children, they’d hyphenate their last names.
The pair relocated permanently to London for a year after their marriage but Emika found the city stifling. They found a home an hour away from London by train and the happy pair snatched it up easily. They kept their London home as well, the family’s income easily affording both. Emika established a second Najira Dojo in London and its reputation grew for the almost brutally intense master of the Dojo. Pulling on some connections she’d built from her time with the U.N., Emika was contracted to train new recruits accepted into british special services which she did with aplomb.
Two years later, they added Hiroshi to their family. He grew up much the same as his mother, in a strongly disciplined household despite his inherent tendency to chaos. His mother introduced him to the family traditions even earlier than normal because his energy was seemingly endless and he took to them like a fish to water. He displayed a startling aptitude for the martial arts, almost anything his mother could teach him, and quickly surpassed the classes for his age group. Once he had this to focus on, his grades also improved quickly now that he had an outlet for his excessive energy.
Growing up, Hiroshi never wanted for money. Between his dad’s explosive financial; career and his mother’s generous military contract on top of her fees for training olympians and martial artists that followed the famous family name, Hiroshi lived an incredibly modest life. The Najira family way ensured that it wasn’t lavish by any means but Hiroshi can sometimes be insensitive about the subject when he encounters quality beneath his expectations.
Talents: Jiu jitsu (modern), Ninjutsu (previous), fighting games, holding his breath, silent walking Academic Affinity: Cognitive Psychology, Japanese History, Japanese Extra:
Fluent in Japanese and English.
Participates in the Kendo club (if it exists).
Introduces himself as Damien at school. Only close friends are allowed to call him Hiroshi.
Loves spicy food.
Dawn is his favorite time of day.
Struggles to stay up past 10pm.
Physical Description: Malvira Nia was easy to miss at first glance. Standing at 5’3 with moon pale skin and a lean frame packing more power than originally met the eye, most didn’t realize who she was until they coward underneath an unrelenting pair of crystal blue eyes. Malvira carried herself with a strength derived from confidence in her mission and a grace from years of combat and stealth training. By the end of her life, her body was littered with scars including three claw marks that ran across her face from a particularly nasty fight with a Martyr Favored.
Bio Description:
In the beginning, chaos reigned. Light and Dark, and the spirits that lived within, clashed since time immemorial. Eons of incessant fighting passed before a tentative balance was reached. This softer push and pull, give and take, created the earth, the sky, and all the creatures that lived in between. These newly created creatures saw the opposing forces as they did now. They honored those responsible for their creation and gave the forces names: Dia and Nia. The spirits of both were uncertain how to handle these newly formed creatures and so they flocked to the new world to see what they created for themselves.
As the Dark is wont to do, the spirits of Nia wandered among the new creations immediately. They found these new mortals endlessly fascinating and with time, doted on them. Their hearts filled with affection and they brought the struggling mortal under their wing. They taught them what they knew: they taught the mortals compassion and empathy, they taught them the importance of creativity and imagination, they taught them magic to hide and disappear and ways to brew elixirs for sickness. The spirits of Nia filled with love for these mortals and they lamented at how their children were stolen from them as they aged and passed. They hadn't known the pain of a loved one lost and with the passion the Children of Nia would become renowned for, the Darkness sacrificed it’s immortality to share its power with all of its children if only to live on with each of them forever.
Meanwhile, the spirits of Dia descended on another part of the mortals and found themselves enamoured with the image of themselves the mortals revered. The spirits took the form of powerful, winged creatures and claimed their place as the rulers of these lesser mortal races. They taught their servants architecture and business, built up trade and religion, and taught them to navigate with the stars. The Dia found the mortals pathetic, sad, and endlessly naive as their efforts served to exoll the Dia in all ways. As a gesture of good will, the Dia raised a single mortal above the rest and imbued him with a little power from each Dia, ensuring that they were unaffected by the sacrifice, and called him the Favored. The Favored gained powers beyond what any single mortal possessed and he ruled over the mortals of the Dia.
Although the existence of the world and its creatures benefited all spirits equally, the time old tensions rose between them and the mortals shifted to accommodate. The mortals of Dia and the mortals of Nia drifted apart and territory disputes began. The spirits recognized the threat their fighting possessed and so they met away from the mortal place to discuss how to proceed. Negotiations were tense. The conclave nearly quit or came to blows but weeks later, they came to a conclusion: ritual combat.
Every 10 years, the Children of Nia and the Favored would meet on the border of the territory of Dia and Nia to act as proxies for their guiding spirits. This would allow the world to remain in one piece and slake the spirits’ instinctual need to clash with each other.
The Dia didn’t change their practice. A single mortal would be raised, granted powers beyond mortal capacity, and rule the rest. This mortal would be the Dia’s champion at the Conclave event each year until the next Favored was old enough to carry the burden. However, the Nia had long lost their immortality. Instead, the trained their descendants in ancient techniques, melding magic with martial might. It was no secret they didn’t have the brute strength to overcome the Dia’s Favored so they learned. They studied everything they could, honed their skills day and night, and relied on each other. These families that dedicated themselves to the cause of the spirits became known as the Keepers of Nia. They swore a sacred vow to protect their communities from harm within and without. Many of the Keepers would step away from leadership roles because it clouded their ability to watch for threats impartially. Others took up the mantle eagerly and thrived.
So the world found an odd peace. Tensions between the communities faded away as the natural balance was found once again. It seemed a utopia.
Until 5000 years later, when a Favored discovered the Dia were only using the mortal race for their own gain and in his fury, massacred the Dia and absorbed the entirety of their powers. The Light consumed his mind, transforming him into an angelic beauty. His face turned to porcelain, forever twisted in the visage of his final lament, and he rose above his lands with only thoughts filled with the greed of the Dia. They fed him and his need for power extended past the lands of his people. His advisors begged him against and he branded them as heretics, killing them in the streets of their own home. The horror that he saw that day marked his entire people as traitors and he considered them worthless. Now called the Archon, he used his powers to warp his people into immortal creatures made in his own image. Twisted beauties, they became known as the Favored. Like the Archon, each face was now a porcelain mask displaying whatever last expression that had before the transformation claimed their minds.
The Archon declared war and it was brutal. Faced with the unrelenting might of Light and the unchecked fury of the Archon at the mere existence of Dark, the Keepers were soon forced to retreat. They herded as many as they could into the inner territories, setting wards and barriers to stall the Archon’s advance. They established cities with walls and gates infused with shadow, developed techniques that allowed their blades to drip darkness, and mastered guerrilla warfare and infiltration. The varied techniques of the past slowly died as the Keepers fought for survival.
Those caught outside the protected cities would soon find their minds succumbing to the light of the Archon and warping into one of its Favored. The Favored knew nothing of compassion, of mercy. They only knew of the ever growing hunger for power and conquest. To make matters worse, the Keepers discovered that the longer the war continued, the more new generations were born without the connection to the Nia. Hope was a scarce resource as 10 of the 12 cities collapsed beneath the Archon’s might and the remaining free mortals began to starve without the land to feed themselves.
Driven to desperate measures, the Keepers infiltrated the Archon’s Citadel in hopes of stumbling across any information on a critical weakness of the Archon and its Favored. Instead, they learned the nightmarish ritual the Archon used to strip the Dia of their power and start its age of unending bloodshed. They barely managed to escape with the information but the sacrifices they suffered were not in vain.
It took a century to complete the ritual. The second of the remaining free cities was battered with the renewed wrath of the Archon. Previous failures to complete the ritual cost the Keepers another life but in the end, the Keepers stripped themselves and their ancestors of their power and imbued it into one single child. Malvira Nia was raised under strict tutelage with the understanding that she was the child ever Keeper―no. Every mortal―placed their hopes in. It was stifling. A burden put on shoulders not yet strong enough to hold it. So she ran.
It would take years but watching the sister city of her own crumble beneath the Favored woke her up to the necessity of her destiny. She threw herself into her training, rallying the people behind her, and rode out to push back the Favored with her own soldiers besides her. For the first time in 5000 years, the Keepers won a battle.
The war was tough and at every corner, Malvira Nia was there to restore her soldier's resolve and defend them in battle. But as great of a leader, a general, and a soldier she was, anyone under her command would acknowledge that she was distant and cold. Most commended her dedication, even expected it, but those closest to her knew she accepted death as a certainty and they fought back against it. Those who grew up with her, her tutors, and even the few stragistest she worked closely with worked to make her open up, to accept that they could figure out a solution in which she lives because nothing in this world is ever certain.
It took the near death of someone she loved to make her change her mind. Malvira was known for risky operations that only relied on her but the soldier who would become Malvira’s life partner interfered when Malvira was close to failure, successfully turning the tide of the operation but nearly dying in the process. Mavira learned that day what she would be leaving behind if she died recklessly and her operations became less risky, more calculated. It drove her forced forward even faster. The old Keepers learned how to revert the Favored from their twisted state back to mortality and their numbers swelled.
It was a tale as old as time. The inevitable clash of Light and Dark that would put an end to this war once and for all. The Archon discovered Malvira’s love and capitalized on it, manipulating the resistance forces to sending her life partner and another small group to infiltrate what was supposedly a low risk encampment that the Archon itself would appear at moments after the group’s capture. Malvira was handling a wave of new Favored assaults when she received the news. She turned on her heel and rode into the night to face the Archon face on without a word to anyone.
The Archon’s intent was to mow Malvira down with the Favored but its pride demanded he accept the challenge she threw in its face. Their battle lasted three days and three nights. Her forces rallied to her, trying to penetrate the heart of the encampment to offer the last Keeper their support but they couldn’t keep up with the sheer numbers. Her friends, her family, her soldiers fell to the light and transformed into Favored even as she battled it’s source. Malvira’s rage and desperation built with every fallen friend.
The dawn of the fourth day broke the stalemate. The building fury finally exploded and drove her blade, dripping with Darkness, into the Archon’s heart and he crumbled to the ground, the Light fading as he did. The Favored shifted back. It was a painful, terrifying process but eventually the Favored would return to their mortal forms once more. Malvira thought she’d escaped.
But the Archon had one final curse. A spiteful curse on this land and those who defied him, the Archon uttered it with its final breath and a torrent of Light was unleashed on the world. For there to be harmony, Light and Darkness must be in balance and now that Light was let back into the world, Malvira knew the Darkness inside her was needed as well. She gave herself over to the Dark and she faded along with the Archon, the darkness pouring out of her to neutralize the Archon’s curse.
Legends:
When city fell and lives did flee, Pursued by Light in perverted glee, Find themselves upon the ridge Where all hope did crash and halt With no way out and no retreat. A single crossing guaranteed Their lives were forfeit.
When Sun met sky in cradled zenith, Light ignored their fervent pleas For sweetest mercy on their knees. The horde which snarled bespoke their fate As minions of what they hate.
And yet why did they still make pleas? None had answered for so long. And even as the their lives and homes Crumbled to dust around them , Their spirit sang out for sweet reprieve.
None who lived to tell this tale Recall the moment when all. Held a collective breath. The world around them stilled on its axis And even Light stopped in its tracks.
For in domain the wrong side of day Stood Darkness with blue eyes ablaze Sweet Meralyn with easy song Blade ready against the coming fray.
And so did Light command its slaves To claim the Darkness for the Day But firm she stood against the point, Swift as song and true as arrow With not a flinch or show of fear As Sun continued to its drink.
Next came Pious, Large of jowel, jaw, and claw, Four legs to rip and tear And still did Darkness with the bout As Meralyn screams and shouts, Dripping white with Favored blood And corpses growing beneath her butt.
Soon screamed Fervent, Reflections of us, Mortals who fell Beneath Light’s lust, Yet still fall did they In heavy foray And added to the growth.
Soon the Sun dipped down its head, The slivered moon regarded its friend With favor and fun as She bathed in its light While true Light considered To fight or to flight.
Wisely did It choose To flee beyond the moon But not without rebuke or two When Martyred Favored Bodies blocking out the sky Lumbered slowly forwarded To blot out the night.
With eyes held shut, Their hope all but gone, Since Darkness did naught For their own flesh and blood With the felling of cities Why should She now Stand against those who commit such atrocity?
And yet there came none, No Light in its waves, No carcasses of Martyr scattered across their flesh With not even a whisper Darkness had best The worst of the nightmares Light yet created And upon that podium Of Light’s single loss Did the Bridge of Malcant Restore our hope lost.
Listen close and listen well, children. The grove over yonder must never be entered. You all know the one; it glimmers bright even beneath the dark of night in perpetual defiance. You little ones won’t remember the time the Light came to our village. The monsters that scratched at the sky. We called them the Martyred Favored. As big as a house with as many arms and legs as four men, each tipped with razor sharp claws that’d cut even stone in twain with ease, more so a man. But that wasn’t why they were made.
No. Those were only to protect its body, swollen full as if with child. It stomped unheeded by thorn or brush, caring little for anything in its path, as it made its way to wherever the Light demanded. It had no mouth so it killed for pleasure, made no noise other than the screams of its victims and the weight of its steps, but a moving Martyr was what you preferred. Because when it stopped, it exploded.
Light would explode from inside and corrupt everything it touched. Living creatures turned to Favored, ground purified of life, and anything else disappeared. The first one to ever be stopped was right here in this village. A soldier noticed the creature escape from the battle on the ridge and come thundering down to us. We saw it and we despaired, even as the soldier came galloping down behind it.
He cut it off at the grove. The two battled and we wept at his cries of pain and we wept when we heard the thunderous footsteps still. We knew what we would become. We braced ourselves as best we could, putting anything between us and them even if it meant nothing. The grove turned bright, blinding, and pure, and we mourned before we couldn’t anymore.
And then, just like that, the skys turned dark before its time. There She stood, the last Keeper of Nia, a blip against the impending explosion. Tendrils of Darkness stretched from the sky, up form the ground, and even from the air itself, all bending to Her will as she wrapped the grove with one hand and cradled the soldier, unconscious, with the other. The world shuddered as the ground quivered beneath the monster’s ire but Her will stood firm with a simple flick of her fingers as the deluge crashed against Her. It rose and rose and rose and rose until it vanished into the sky, returning night to day, and left only the trees bright with Light.
So no you cannot go into the grove or a monster you’ll become. Just gaze upon it in awe and always remember the day that Darkness came.
Combat Affinities :Malvira was the final Keeper from a long line of families. Training in the various styles was expected since birth, turning into an equally well rounded fighter with bows (Kyudo), blades (Kendo), polearms (Naginata-do), and hand-to-hand combat (jiu jitsu/judo). Her own personal family specialize in various methods of unorthodox warfare (ninjutsu), specializing in tessen and wakizashi.
Malvira preferred to avoid direct combat and instead relied heavily on the hit and run tactics of guerilla warfare. The plan was always to end the engagement before it started. Doing so saved lives, conserved resources, and enabled them to handle issues in a timely manner. With a mix of planning, magic, and a heavy dose of finely honed instinct, Malvira was an expert at maintaining the advantage in battle.
Things didn’t always go as planned though. She traditionally opened with the bow, crafting arrows from shadows to help maintain her advantage. If the first shot didn’t take out the target or there were more targets than a single shot could eliminate, her first goal was relocation and her methods changed depending on the situation. If they weren’t intelligent enough to pinpoint her original location, she’d move manually just enough to be far enough away that she had a new angle. If her location was compromised, she’d rely on a combination of cloaking and teleportation magics to move between shadows quickly and silently and use their confusion to launch another attack.
Still, there were far too many times that she wasn’t able to maintain that advantage so she quickly closed the distance herself to surprise her enemy and hopefully catch them off guard. Her initial attack would often use the wakizashi or the throwing knives she kept on her before she’d retreat again and conjure a shadowy naginata to buy herself time to analyze her opponent. If it managed to move past, she’d drop the naginata for her tessen. Using it to defect and distract, she’d either force an opening in their guard with the rapid opening and closing of the fan and strike with a dagger or blade or wait until she had a moment to retreat back into cover to reposition and start again.
Hand-to-hand combat was a last resort. Being smaller, slighter, and lighter than most of her opponents often put her at enough of a disadvantage to dissuade her from using her techniques often but when she had to, she knew how to use their weight to her advantage and then target joints to paralyze them before materializing a shadow blade to plunge into their exposed spots.
Magic Affinities : Malvira’s shadow magic wasn’t showstopping. Her magic augmented her own fighting styles rather than eclipsed it, working into a pleasant harmony of martial prowess and magical surprises. Her primary use of magic was to create weapons from them, allowing her to conceal her attacks better than metal weapons that may accidently reflect light, to appear unarmed when tricking enemies into pressing their false advantage, and striking at enemy openings in the middle of a fight that drawing a weapon may not allow.
Its secondary purpose was concealment and movement, shrouding herself in them to make it harder to find her at night or in foliage, and disappearing between shadows and from various angles when she needed to reestablish a favorable angle of attack.
Varis sent the boy the most unamused look he could muster. The boy watched him, a prestigious member of the vampiric community, digging in the dirt, being flung around like a half dead mage in an Astorio fighting ring, and then the audacity to ask him if he was okay. Varis designed not to dignify the question with a response. But if he had decided to it probably would go along the lines of are you on fucking drugs? Because no. Varis was not okay. He’d been demeaned and disrespected by the second highest authority in the land in a public setting and then subsequently forced to work like the very things vampiric society used to do labor. And he was apparently filthy, considering the patch of whatever was on his arm when he went to brush something itching him off. Frankly, Varis could count the number of times he wanted to break the Sinnenodel tradition of nonviolence and he still could, there would just be an extra finger up after the night was over.
“So you mean to tell me that after everything I just suffered, we were awarded the symbol of the most incompitent house in all vampiric history and then pointed onwards?” Varis bit out past clenched teeth. If that wasn’t a slap in the face, Varis didn’t know what was. At the very least, it could have been his own. The challenge was duplicitous enough. Varis followed the arm he was holding onto and took the medallion from Aaron. He tracked the design with his thumb, his other had resuming its original place on Aaron’s arm. Absolutely absurd.
His chest felt tight. His entire body felt taut, on edge, boarding on painful. He could feel the slight tremor in his hands and his arms. Normally, it’d be fear. Loss of control was a major problem. He build networks that brought older vampires to their knees and hand them groveling at his feet, indebted others to him so they needed what he had, blackmailed others so they couldn’t turn on him. Normally, he’d briefly acknowledge that. But now and here, Varis wasn’t afraid.
He was furious.
“Aaron.” He spoke calmly, collected and serene, a sudden change from his previous demeanor. “Face me in the direction of whichever tree you didn’t open.” When the boy obliged, Varis took off his jacket properly and handed it off to him. “Your job for now is to shake off as much of the dirt as you can. Keep your eyes on the jacket. Do not look away from it no matter what you hear, do you understand me?” Varis didn’t bother waiting. He tossed the medallion up for a second, getting a feel for its weight.
The medallion whipped through the air, a crack blasting form it as Varis sent it flying at the tree. The medallion slammed into the door, the metal screeching when the medallion punctured it, and embedded itself halfway out the tree on the other side. Varis’ composure broke and he bared his fangs instinctively as he followed the sound of the medallion flying and slammed into the metal door, wood around it snapping and crackling in protest as he pushed his fingers into the tree. He gripped the sides of the door and pulled as hard as he could. It gave after a few tugs with a sickening screech and Varis hurled it towards the tree next to them. He smirked at the satisfying crack of it burying into the other tree and Varis stalked into the other hallowed out interior. Inside this one was nothing but Varis didn’t care. He tore at the inside, leaving massive gouges in it and littering the trunk with holes. Eventually, he felt the medallion brush against him and he yanked it out where it was buried into the wood. He traced it again with his thumb and sighed loudly, feeling a little better now that one of Ryner’s insufferable traps was in pieces.
Varis cocked his head as he tried to get a grip on his surroundings, a little disoriented now that he wasn’t possessed with an all consuming rage. His ears were ringing softly and he still felt taut and on edge but it wasn’t anywhere near as intense as before. He collected his thoughts, trying to figure out how to get back without calling for the fool, and he wrinkled his nose. The boy had asked to put him down earlier which meant he was probably tired which meant… Varis shuddered. Mortal biology was disgusting. Varis focused on his senses, dulling the others and sharpening his sense of smell. It was cold, which muted everything, but the boy wasn’t far. Varis sniffed the air for a moment and there it was. The faint acridity among the overwhelming smells of nature.
Varis wouldn’t admit he stumbled on his way back but eventually he managed to clamp onto the boy, letting his senses fade back to normal, and held his arm out. “If you’re done boy, help me get this back on and we’ll be on our way. I’m quite ready to quit this place as quickly as possible.”
Location: The Mutant Underground, Outside Jack and Casper’s Room
Skills: N/A
James stared at the rat for a long while, even as Waverly picked it up. He knew Max didn’t mean it as anything. It probably was supposed to be a chocolate cake. It just meant… Fuck. Max tasted power in the other universe and now he wanted to branch out in this one. Technically, Max still remembered all that training, all that experience, from the other world. James knew because he did too even if he wished he didn’t. Before this stint with the Underground, James wouldn’t have considered himself particularly superstitious but staring at that rat dangling from Waverly’s hand, James felt like it was an omen of things to come.
Fuck.
On one hand, I’m relieved to hear that. I fucking hate telepaths. On the other hand, you pulled a warehouse fire. A dead rat just appeared in front of me. And Casper. And Jack. And Waverly who believes… Actually, nope. Not going there. But I appreciate the sentiment all the same. Kind of nostalgic, huh? James sent back mentally. He frowned, that voice in the back of his head growing a little bit louder. He really would hate to miss this opportunity. “Listen. Things are… hectic around here. The mission to distract Magneto and Polaris and them went… went really bad, Max. And almost everyone involved in that mission is standing in this building. Why don’t you call me tomorrow at sunrise? You know I’m normally up for a jog and we’ll have more privacy. Maybe we can talk about meeting up face to face considering… considering the bullshit we went through together? I still owe you for finding Casper in the other world when you were bone dead tired anyway and I’d love a chance to repay that.” James turned his attention back to the group around him. Waverly needed to get rid of that rather than handing it over to Sunshine but he really didn’t need her knowing where it came from.
“It’s not Fred. I’m not certain that rat existed up until just now honestly. It was apparently supposed to be chocolate cake, warehouse fire style.” James explained, hoping Jack and Casper would get the message and understand his hesitancy to discuss the issue directly. He grimaced at Waverly’s question about Jack’s child. “That’s...probably something we should explain later. The situation is delicate right now and Veil needs to know how to plan accordingly.” James thunked his head against Casper’s shoulder with a groan. “All I wanted was a little while to cuddle. No rest for the wicked, huh babes?” He grumbled into his boyfriend’s shoulder before going to hunt down Veil but he paused before pulling his boyfriend along. “Did you two want some time to talk alone about… everything? I can handle catching Veil up alone if you guys need.”
Okay, WIP character sheet! Still need the Lore section filled out but I have most of it done! Please let me know how its going ^.^
Hiroshi Damien Johnson-Najira
15 * Male* October 14th, 2010
Physical Description: Hiroshi is relatively easy to miss at first glance. Shorter than most of his peers, Hiroshi barely reaches 5’ 4” and keeps a lean frame from daily workouts and regular time at his family’s dojo. He has black hair that he lets grow out just long enough for him to tie up when he practices and piercing blue eyes that he got from his dad’s european heritage. Unfortunately, he inherited his mother’s fair complexion that demands to stay indoors or it burns immediately. He usually keeps a few tubes of sunscreen handy in his bag just in case.
Personality Description: Hiroshi is blunt and believes a direct and honest approach is the best approach to any social interaction. He has little tolerance for drama and gets easily riled up when people involve him in it. If they’re pulling him in, they better expect a solution, not a comforting ear.
He excels at first impressions, his family instilling that much into him at least, and most people walk away thinking Hiroshi is a responsible level headed teenager but they would be incredibly wrong. Hiroshi is the friend that 100% supports kicking your bully into the dirt and curb stomping them without telling the teacher, that is already halfway out the door when you ask for a snack at 3am, and shows up to help you break out after curfew if you want to hang out. He responds to things instinctively and quickly, rarely thinking things all the way through before heading out.
That isn’t to say he doesn’t have more than a few insecurities. His biggest one is his height, or lack thereof, and if he is pushed too far on the issue, he’ll show off exactly what it means to be the heir to the Najira dojo. After all, they can’t tell his height if they’re face down in the dirt. But there are other things too. He collects soft, cute things, particularly in pink and purple, but hoards them privately. He has difficulty remembering people in the first few meetings so he introduces himself as Damien at school and Hiroshi at home so he knows based on how they greet him, where he knows them from.
Bio Description:
Hiroshi Damien Najira was born on a freezing October night in Shinhidaka, Hokkaido, one hundred miles from his mother’s ancestral home. Emika Najira was the second child of the master of the Najira Dojo, a famous training facility for Japanese olympians, athletes, and martial artists. The family claimed they were direct descendants from one of the original ninja of old times and every child is rigorously trained in their practice and are expected to serve in the Japanese Self Defense Forces in some capacity or another. Emika was no different, joining the JSDF when she was 18 and qualifying to enter the Directorate for Signals Intelligence two years later. She remained in the DSF for another five years, two over those overseas as part of a collaboration team with the U.N. intelligence community, before she let her contract with the JSDF expire.
When she returned, Damien Johnson followed her. Damien Johnson grew up in London proper, attending all his schooling in local boarding schools, until he graduated with a finance degree from Oxford university. He was a hot shot financial executive from a family well known for their political and medical accomplishments and he had all the intents to add financial into the family portfolio as well. Damien was a few years older than Emika but hopelessly smitten and he followed her back from England to Japan without a second thought.
He’d done his research. They’d talked about taking their relationship beyond where they were and when they reached the Najira family home, he asked for her hand in the traditional method. Her father had been originally set against the relationship, since he’d just found out barely a month before, but seeing his dedication changed his heart and he gave it the blessing on one condition: the children take the Najira family name. It worked perfectly into their plans. Emika never intended to give up her last name and they’d decided when they had children, they’d hyphenate their last names.
The pair relocated permanently to London for a year after their marriage but Emika found the city stifling. They found a home an hour away from London by train and the happy pair snatched it up easily. They kept their London home as well, the family’s income easily affording both. Emika established a second Najira Dojo in London and its reputation grew for the almost brutally intense master of the Dojo. Pulling on some connections she’d built from her time with the U.N., Emika was contracted to train new recruits accepted into british special services which she did with aplomb.
Two years later, they added Hiroshi to their family. He grew up much the same as his mother, in a strongly disciplined household despite his inherent tendency to chaos. His mother introduced him to the family traditions even earlier than normal because his energy was seemingly endless and he took to them like a fish to water. He displayed a startling aptitude for the martial arts, almost anything his mother could teach him, and quickly surpassed the classes for his age group. Once he had this to focus on, his grades also improved quickly now that he had an outlet for his excessive energy.
Growing up, Hiroshi never wanted for money. Between his dad’s explosive financial; career and his mother’s generous military contract on top of her fees for training olympians and martial artists that followed the famous family name, Hiroshi lived an incredibly modest life. The Najira family way ensured that it wasn’t lavish by any means but Hiroshi can sometimes be insensitive about the subject when he encounters quality beneath his expectations.
Talents: Jiu jitsu (modern), Ninjutsu (previous), fighting games, holding his breath, silent walking Academic Affinity: Cognitive Psychology, Japanese History, Japanese Extra:
Fluent in Japanese and English.
Participates in the Kendo club (if it exists).
Introduces himself as Damien at school. Only close friends are allowed to call him Hiroshi.
Loves spicy food.
Dawn is his favorite time of day.
Struggles to stay up past 10pm.
Physical Description: Malvira Nia was easy to miss at first glance. Standing at 5’3 with moon pale skin and a lean frame packing more power than originally met the eye, most didn’t realize who she was until they coward underneath an unrelenting pair of crystal blue eyes. Malvira carried herself with a strength derived from confidence in her mission and a grace from years of combat and stealth training. By the end of her life, her body was littered with scars including three claw marks that ran across her face from a particularly nasty fight with a Martyr Favored.
Bio Description:
In the beginning, chaos reigned. Light and Dark, and the spirits that lived within, clashed since time immemorial. Eons of incessant fighting passed before a tentative balance was reached. This softer push and pull, give and take, created the earth, the sky, and all the creatures that lived in between. These newly created creatures saw the opposing forces as they did now. They honored those responsible for their creation and gave the forces names: Dia and Nia. The spirits of both were uncertain how to handle these newly formed creatures and so they flocked to the new world to see what they created for themselves.
As the Dark is wont to do, the spirits of Nia wandered among the new creations immediately. They found these new mortals endlessly fascinating and with time, doted on them. Their hearts filled with affection and they brought the struggling mortal under their wing. They taught them what they knew: they taught the mortals compassion and empathy, they taught them the importance of creativity and imagination, they taught them magic to hide and disappear and ways to brew elixirs for sickness. The spirits of Nia filled with love for these mortals and they lamented at how their children were stolen from them as they aged and passed. They hadn't known the pain of a loved one lost and with the passion the Children of Nia would become renowned for, the Darkness sacrificed it’s immortality to share its power with all of its children if only to live on with each of them forever.
Meanwhile, the spirits of Dia descended on another part of the mortals and found themselves enamoured with the image of themselves the mortals revered. The spirits took the form of powerful, winged creatures and claimed their place as the rulers of these lesser mortal races. They taught their servants architecture and business, built up trade and religion, and taught them to navigate with the stars. The Dia found the mortals pathetic, sad, and endlessly naive as their efforts served to exoll the Dia in all ways. As a gesture of good will, the Dia raised a single mortal above the rest and imbued him with a little power from each Dia, ensuring that they were unaffected by the sacrifice, and called him the Favored. The Favored gained powers beyond what any single mortal possessed and he ruled over the mortals of the Dia.
Although the existence of the world and its creatures benefited all spirits equally, the time old tensions rose between them and the mortals shifted to accommodate. The mortals of Dia and the mortals of Nia drifted apart and territory disputes began. The spirits recognized the threat their fighting possessed and so they met away from the mortal place to discuss how to proceed. Negotiations were tense. The conclave nearly quit or came to blows but weeks later, they came to a conclusion: ritual combat.
Every 10 years, the Children of Nia and the Favored would meet on the border of the territory of Dia and Nia to act as proxies for their guiding spirits. This would allow the world to remain in one piece and slake the spirits’ instinctual need to clash with each other.
The Dia didn’t change their practice. A single mortal would be raised, granted powers beyond mortal capacity, and rule the rest. This mortal would be the Dia’s champion at the Conclave event each year until the next Favored was old enough to carry the burden. However, the Nia had long lost their immortality. Instead, the trained their descendants in ancient techniques, melding magic with martial might. It was no secret they didn’t have the brute strength to overcome the Dia’s Favored so they learned. They studied everything they could, honed their skills day and night, and relied on each other. These families that dedicated themselves to the cause of the spirits became known as the Keepers of Nia. They swore a sacred vow to protect their communities from harm within and without. Many of the Keepers would step away from leadership roles because it clouded their ability to watch for threats impartially. Others took up the mantle eagerly and thrived.
So the world found an odd peace. Tensions between the communities faded away as the natural balance was found once again. It seemed a utopia.
Until 5000 years later, when a Favored discovered the Dia were only using the mortal race for their own gain and in his fury, massacred the Dia and absorbed the entirety of their powers. The Light consumed his mind, transforming him into an angelic beauty. His face turned to porcelain, forever twisted in the visage of his final lament, and he rose above his lands with only thoughts filled with the greed of the Dia. They fed him and his need for power extended past the lands of his people. His advisors begged him against and he branded them as heretics, killing them in the streets of their own home. The horror that he saw that day marked his entire people as traitors and he considered them worthless. Now called the Archon, he used his powers to warp his people into immortal creatures made in his own image. Twisted beauties, they became known as the Favored. Like the Archon, each face was now a porcelain mask displaying whatever last expression that had before the transformation claimed their minds.
The Archon declared war and it was brutal. Faced with the unrelenting might of Light and the unchecked fury of the Archon at the mere existence of Dark, the Keepers were soon forced to retreat. They herded as many as they could into the inner territories, setting wards and barriers to stall the Archon’s advance. They established cities with walls and gates infused with shadow, developed techniques that allowed their blades to drip darkness, and mastered guerrilla warfare and infiltration. The varied techniques of the past slowly died as the Keepers fought for survival.
Those caught outside the protected cities would soon find their minds succumbing to the light of the Archon and warping into one of its Favored. The Favored knew nothing of compassion, of mercy. They only knew of the ever growing hunger for power and conquest. To make matters worse, the Keepers discovered that the longer the war continued, the more new generations were born without the connection to the Nia. Hope was a scarce resource as 10 of the 12 cities collapsed beneath the Archon’s might and the remaining free mortals began to starve without the land to feed themselves.
Driven to desperate measures, the Keepers infiltrated the Archon’s Citadel in hopes of stumbling across any information on a critical weakness of the Archon and its Favored. Instead, they learned the nightmarish ritual the Archon used to strip the Dia of their power and start its age of unending bloodshed. They barely managed to escape with the information but the sacrifices they suffered were not in vain.
It took a century to complete the ritual. The second of the remaining free cities was battered with the renewed wrath of the Archon. Previous failures to complete the ritual cost the Keepers another life but in the end, the Keepers stripped themselves and their ancestors of their power and imbued it into one single child. Malvira Nia was raised under strict tutelage with the understanding that she was the child ever Keeper―no. Every mortal―placed their hopes in. It was stifling. A burden put on shoulders not yet strong enough to hold it. So she ran.
It would take years but watching the sister city of her own crumble beneath the Favored woke her up to the necessity of her destiny. She threw herself into her training, rallying the people behind her, and rode out to push back the Favored with her own soldiers besides her. For the first time in 5000 years, the Keepers won a battle.
The war was tough and at every corner, Malvira Nia was there to restore her soldier's resolve and defend them in battle. But as great of a leader, a general, and a soldier she was, anyone under her command would acknowledge that she was distant and cold. Most commended her dedication, even expected it, but those closest to her knew she accepted death as a certainty and they fought back against it. Those who grew up with her, her tutors, and even the few stragistest she worked closely with worked to make her open up, to accept that they could figure out a solution in which she lives because nothing in this world is ever certain.
It took the near death of someone she loved to make her change her mind. Malvira was known for risky operations that only relied on her but the soldier who would become Malvira’s life partner interfered when Malvira was close to failure, successfully turning the tide of the operation but nearly dying in the process. Mavira learned that day what she would be leaving behind if she died recklessly and her operations became less risky, more calculated. It drove her forced forward even faster. The old Keepers learned how to revert the Favored from their twisted state back to mortality and their numbers swelled.
It was a tale as old as time. The inevitable clash of Light and Dark that would put an end to this war once and for all. The Archon discovered Malvira’s love and capitalized on it, manipulating the resistance forces to sending her life partner and another small group to infiltrate what was supposedly a low risk encampment that the Archon itself would appear at moments after the group’s capture. Malvira was handling a wave of new Favored assaults when she received the news. She turned on her heel and rode into the night to face the Archon face on without a word to anyone.
The Archon’s intent was to mow Malvira down with the Favored but its pride demanded he accept the challenge she threw in its face. Their battle lasted three days and three nights. Her forces rallied to her, trying to penetrate the heart of the encampment to offer the last Keeper their support but they couldn’t keep up with the sheer numbers. Her friends, her family, her soldiers fell to the light and transformed into Favored even as she battled it’s source. Malvira’s rage and desperation built with every fallen friend.
The dawn of the fourth day broke the stalemate. The building fury finally exploded and drove her blade, dripping with Darkness, into the Archon’s heart and he crumbled to the ground, the Light fading as he did. The Favored shifted back. It was a painful, terrifying process but eventually the Favored would return to their mortal forms once more. Malvira thought she’d escaped.
But the Archon had one final curse. A spiteful curse on this land and those who defied him, the Archon uttered it with its final breath and a torrent of Light was unleashed on the world. For there to be harmony, Light and Darkness must be in balance and now that Light was let back into the world, Malvira knew the Darkness inside her was needed as well. She gave herself over to the Dark and she faded along with the Archon, the darkness pouring out of her to neutralize the Archon’s curse.
Legends:
When city fell and lives did flee, Pursued by Light in perverted glee, Find themselves upon the ridge Where all hope did crash and halt With no way out and no retreat. A single crossing guaranteed Their lives were forfeit.
When Sun met sky in cradled zenith, Light ignored their fervent pleas For sweetest mercy on their knees. The horde which snarled bespoke their fate As minions of what they hate.
And yet why did they still make pleas? None had answered for so long. And even as the their lives and homes Crumbled to dust around them , Their spirit sang out for sweet reprieve.
None who lived to tell this tale Recall the moment when all. Held a collective breath. The world around them stilled on its axis And even Light stopped in its tracks.
For in domain the wrong side of day Stood Darkness with blue eyes ablaze Sweet Meralyn with easy song Blade ready against the coming fray.
And so did Light command its slaves To claim the Darkness for the Day But firm she stood against the point, Swift as song and true as arrow With not a flinch or show of fear As Sun continued to its drink.
Next came Pious, Large of jowel, jaw, and claw, Four legs to rip and tear And still did Darkness with the bout As Meralyn screams and shouts, Dripping white with Favored blood And corpses growing beneath her butt.
Soon screamed Fervent, Reflections of us, Mortals who fell Beneath Light’s lust, Yet still fall did they In heavy foray And added to the growth.
Soon the Sun dipped down its head, The slivered moon regarded its friend With favor and fun as She bathed in its light While true Light considered To fight or to flight.
Wisely did It choose To flee beyond the moon But not without rebuke or two When Martyred Favored Bodies blocking out the sky Lumbered slowly forwarded To blot out the night.
With eyes held shut, Their hope all but gone, Since Darkness did naught For their own flesh and blood With the felling of cities Why should She now Stand against those who commit such atrocity?
And yet there came none, No Light in its waves, No carcasses of Martyr scattered across their flesh With not even a whisper Darkness had best The worst of the nightmares Light yet created And upon that podium Of Light’s single loss Did the Bridge of Malcant Restore our hope lost.
Listen close and listen well, children. The grove over yonder must never be entered. You all know the one; it glimmers bright even beneath the dark of night in perpetual defiance. You little ones won’t remember the time the Light came to our village. The monsters that scratched at the sky. We called them the Martyred Favored. As big as a house with as many arms and legs as four men, each tipped with razor sharp claws that’d cut even stone in twain with ease, more so a man. But that wasn’t why they were made.
No. Those were only to protect its body, swollen full as if with child. It stomped unheeded by thorn or brush, caring little for anything in its path, as it made its way to wherever the Light demanded. It had no mouth so it killed for pleasure, made no noise other than the screams of its victims and the weight of its steps, but a moving Martyr was what you preferred. Because when it stopped, it exploded.
Light would explode from inside and corrupt everything it touched. Living creatures turned to Favored, ground purified of life, and anything else disappeared. The first one to ever be stopped was right here in this village. A soldier noticed the creature escape from the battle on the ridge and come thundering down to us. We saw it and we despaired, even as the soldier came galloping down behind it.
He cut it off at the grove. The two battled and we wept at his cries of pain and we wept when we heard the thunderous footsteps still. We knew what we would become. We braced ourselves as best we could, putting anything between us and them even if it meant nothing. The grove turned bright, blinding, and pure, and we mourned before we couldn’t anymore.
And then, just like that, the skys turned dark before its time. There She stood, the last Keeper of Nia, a blip against the impending explosion. Tendrils of Darkness stretched from the sky, up form the ground, and even from the air itself, all bending to Her will as she wrapped the grove with one hand and cradled the soldier, unconscious, with the other. The world shuddered as the ground quivered beneath the monster’s ire but Her will stood firm with a simple flick of her fingers as the deluge crashed against Her. It rose and rose and rose and rose until it vanished into the sky, returning night to day, and left only the trees bright with Light.
So no you cannot go into the grove or a monster you’ll become. Just gaze upon it in awe and always remember the day that Darkness came.
Combat Affinities :Malvira was the final Keeper from a long line of families. Training in the various styles was expected since birth, turning into an equally well rounded fighter with bows (Kyudo), blades (Kendo), polearms (Naginata-do), and hand-to-hand combat (jiu jitsu/judo). Her own personal family specialize in various methods of unorthodox warfare (ninjutsu), specializing in tessen and wakizashi.
Malvira preferred to avoid direct combat and instead relied heavily on the hit and run tactics of guerilla warfare. The plan was always to end the engagement before it started. Doing so saved lives, conserved resources, and enabled them to handle issues in a timely manner. With a mix of planning, magic, and a heavy dose of finely honed instinct, Malvira was an expert at maintaining the advantage in battle.
Things didn’t always go as planned though. She traditionally opened with the bow, crafting arrows from shadows to help maintain her advantage. If the first shot didn’t take out the target or there were more targets than a single shot could eliminate, her first goal was relocation and her methods changed depending on the situation. If they weren’t intelligent enough to pinpoint her original location, she’d move manually just enough to be far enough away that she had a new angle. If her location was compromised, she’d rely on a combination of cloaking and teleportation magics to move between shadows quickly and silently and use their confusion to launch another attack.
Still, there were far too many times that she wasn’t able to maintain that advantage so she quickly closed the distance herself to surprise her enemy and hopefully catch them off guard. Her initial attack would often use the wakizashi or the throwing knives she kept on her before she’d retreat again and conjure a shadowy naginata to buy herself time to analyze her opponent. If it managed to move past, she’d drop the naginata for her tessen. Using it to defect and distract, she’d either force an opening in their guard with the rapid opening and closing of the fan and strike with a dagger or blade or wait until she had a moment to retreat back into cover to reposition and start again.
Hand-to-hand combat was a last resort. Being smaller, slighter, and lighter than most of her opponents often put her at enough of a disadvantage to dissuade her from using her techniques often but when she had to, she knew how to use their weight to her advantage and then target joints to paralyze them before materializing a shadow blade to plunge into their exposed spots.
Magic Affinities : Malvira’s shadow magic wasn’t showstopping. Her magic augmented her own fighting styles rather than eclipsed it, working into a pleasant harmony of martial prowess and magical surprises. Her primary use of magic was to create weapons from them, allowing her to conceal her attacks better than metal weapons that may accidently reflect light, to appear unarmed when tricking enemies into pressing their false advantage, and striking at enemy openings in the middle of a fight that drawing a weapon may not allow.
Its secondary purpose was concealment and movement, shrouding herself in them to make it harder to find her at night or in foliage, and disappearing between shadows and from various angles when she needed to reestablish a favorable angle of attack.
Location: Just outside Compartment 3 Magic:Legilimency, Charms
The spell ended as Arty dropped his wand to turn and summon Georgina back at Mary but Georgina had already done the deed for him. He jumped back into the compartment and slammed the door shut behind him. He let out a sigh of relief, far more comfortable with something between them and the commotion, and turned to talk to Georgina. She’d seen something awful and support was definitely something he could do, even if he could feel his hands trembling when he heard the killing curse and a subsequent thump on the floor. But his attention was snatched away from her in a flash when he saw his brother trembling on the floor, a poor job of a disillusionment charm cast over him. He couldn’t have hit his knees faster, instinctively reaching out with his mind to figure out what happened to him.
The first thing he felt was fear. Fear and dread and horror and uselessness. It was unrelenting and brutal and Artie went slack jawed as he pulled at the image in his brother’s head. All of them bound and dressed identically, all of them on slabs, all of them watching in horror as a knife plunged into his own chest. Artie wasn’t sure if he screamed out loud or if it stayed in their connection but his wand was at Apollo’s head immediately. The incantation was out of his mouth before he could stop it, sending his brother into an enchanted sleep even as he tried to keep his own breathing under control. He could feel the panic rising and flying across their connection.
Artie struggled for a moment, banishing the scene of his own death away for the time being, and conjured up far happier ones and slammed them across the telepathic bond. He smothered every image he saw with their happier ones: when they received their letters, those time after therapy they felt overwhelming relief, every aced test, every time they’d pranked their parents with their skills, or the feeling of managing to pick out perfect gifts even when they actively focused on keeping their minds to themselves. The first time they cast their patronuses after practicing day and night for so long and the relief at the first time his brother’s wolf patronus wound it’s way into his history class right after they were dismissed. Artie had been drowning in loneliness that day and it made everything so much better and he sent that, every moment of appreciation, every moment of giddy happiness, everything he could to overwrite everything he could while his brother slept safe from his own head.
Physical Description: Hiroshi is relatively easy to miss at first glance. Shorter than most of his peers, Hiroshi barely reaches 5’ 4” and keeps a lean frame from daily workouts and regular time at his family’s dojo. He has black hair that he lets grow out just long enough for him to tie up when he practices and piercing blue eyes that he got from his dad’s european heritage. Unfortunately, he inherited his mother’s fair complexion that demands to stay indoors or it burns immediately. He usually keeps a few tubes of sunscreen handy in his bag just in case.
Personality Description: Hiroshi is blunt and believes a direct and honest approach is the best approach to any social interaction. He has little tolerance for drama and gets easily riled up when people involve him in it. If they’re pulling him in, they better expect a solution, not a comforting ear.
He tends to make good first impressions, his family instilling that much into him at least, and most people walk away thinking Hiroshi is a responsible level headed teenager but they would be incredibly wrong. Hiroshi is the friend that 100% supports kicking your bully into the dirt and curb stomping them without telling the teacher, that is already halfway out the door when you ask for a snack at 3am, and shows up to help you break out after curfew if you want to hang out. He responds to things instinctively and quickly, rarely thinking things all the way through before heading out.
That isn’t to say he doesn’t have more than a few insecurities. His biggest one is his height, or lack thereof, and if he is pushed too far on the issue, he’ll show off exactly what it means to be the heir to the Najira dojo. After all, they can’t tell his height if they’re face down in the dirt. But there are other things too. He collects soft, cute things, particularly in pink and purple, but hoards them privately. He has difficulty remembering people in the first few meetings so he introduces himself as Damien at school and Hiroshi at home so he knows based on how they greet him, where he knows them from.
Bio Description:
Hiroshi Damien Najira was born on a freezing October night in Shinhidaka, Hokkaido, one hundred miles from his mother’s ancestral home. Emika Najira was the second child of the master of the Najira Dojo, a famous training facility for Japanese olympians, athletes, and martial artists. The family claimed they were direct descendants from one of the original ninja of old times and every child is rigorously trained in their practice and are expected to serve in the Japanese Self Defense Forces in some capacity or another. Emika was no different, joining the JSDF when she was 18 and qualifying to enter the Directorate for Signals Intelligence two years later. She remained in the DSF for another five years, two over those overseas as part of a collaboration team with the U.N. intelligence community, before she let her contract with the JSDF expire.
When she returned, Damien Johnson followed her. Damien Johnson grew up in London proper, attending all his schooling in local boarding schools, until he graduated with a finance degree from Oxford university. He was a hot shot financial executive from a family well known for their political and medical accomplishments and he had all the intents to add financial into the family portfolio as well. Damien was a few years older than Emika but hopelessly smitten and he followed her back from England to Japan without a second thought.
He’d done his research. They’d talked about taking their relationship beyond where they were and when they reached the Najira family home, he asked for her hand in the traditional method. Her father had been originally set against the relationship, since he’d just found out barely a month before, but seeing his dedication changed his heart and he gave it the blessing on one condition: the children take the Najira family name. It worked perfectly into their plans. Emika never intended to give up her last name and they’d decided when they had children, they’d hyphenate their last names.
The pair relocated permanently to London for a year after their marriage but Emika found the city stifling. They found a home an hour away from London by train and the happy pair snatched it up easily. They kept their London home as well, the family’s income easily affording both. Emika established a second Najira Dojo in London and its reputation grew for the almost brutally intense master of the Dojo. Pulling on some connections she’d built from her time with the U.N., Emika was contracted to train new recruits accepted into british special services which she did with aplomb.
Two years later, they added Hiroshi to their family. He grew up much the same as his mother, in a strongly disciplined household despite his inherent tendency to chaos. His mother introduced him to the family traditions even earlier than normal because his energy was seemingly endless and he took to them like a fish to water. He displayed a startling aptitude for the martial arts, almost anything his mother could teach him, and quickly surpassed the classes for his age group. Once he had this to focus on, his grades also improved quickly now that he had an outlet for his excessive energy.
Growing up, Hiroshi never wanted for money. Between his dad’s explosive financial; career and his mother’s generous military contract on top of her fees for training olympians and martial artists that followed the famous family name, Hiroshi lived an incredibly modest life. The Najira family way ensured that it wasn’t lavish by any means but Hiroshi can sometimes be insensitive about the subject when he encounters quality beneath his expectations.
Talents: Jiu jitsu (modern), Ninjutsu (previous), fighting games, holding his breath, silent walking Academic Affinity: Cognitive Psychology, Japanese History, Japanese Extra:
Fluent in Japanese and English.
Participates in the Kendo club (if it exists).
Introduces himself as Damien at school. Only close friends are allowed to call him Hiroshi.
Loves spicy food.
Dawn is his favorite time of day.
Struggles to stay up past 10pm.
Physical Description: Malvira Nia was easy to miss at first glance. Standing at 5’3 with moon pale skin and a lean frame packing more power than originally met the eye, most didn’t realize who she was until they coward underneath an unrelenting pair of crystal blue eyes. Malvira carried herself with a strength derived from confidence in her mission and a grace from years of combat and stealth training. By the end of her life, her body was littered with scars including three claw marks that ran across her face from a particularly nasty fight with a Martyr Favored.
Bio Description:
In the beginning, chaos reigned. Light and Dark, and the spirits that lived within, clashed since time immemorial. Eons of incessant fighting passed before a tentative balance was reached. This softer push and pull, give and take, created the earth, the sky, and all the creatures that lived in between. These newly created creatures saw the opposing forces as they did now. They honored those responsible for their creation and gave the forces names: Dia and Nia. The spirits of both were uncertain how to handle these newly formed creatures and so they flocked to the new world to see what they created for themselves.
As the Dark is wont to do, the spirits of Nia wandered among the new creations immediately. They found these new mortals endlessly fascinating and with time, doted on them. Their hearts filled with affection and they brought the struggling mortal under their wing. They taught them what they knew: they taught the mortals compassion and empathy, they taught them the importance of creativity and imagination, they taught them magic to hide and disappear and ways to brew elixirs for sickness. The spirits of Nia filled with love for these mortals and they lamented at how their children were stolen from them as they aged and passed. They hadn't known the pain of a loved one lost and with the passion the Children of Nia would become renowned for, the Darkness sacrificed it’s immortality to share its power with all of its children if only to live on with each of them forever.
Meanwhile, the spirits of Dia descended on another part of the mortals and found themselves enamoured with the image of themselves the mortals revered. The spirits took the form of powerful, winged creatures and claimed their place as the rulers of these lesser mortal races. They taught their servants architecture and business, built up trade and religion, and taught them to navigate with the stars. The Dia found the mortals pathetic, sad, and endlessly naive as their efforts served to exoll the Dia in all ways. As a gesture of good will, the Dia raised a single mortal above the rest and imbued him with a little power from each Dia, ensuring that they were unaffected by the sacrifice, and called him the Favored. The Favored gained powers beyond what any single mortal possessed and he ruled over the mortals of the Dia.
Although the existence of the world and its creatures benefited all spirits equally, the time old tensions rose between them and the mortals shifted to accommodate. The mortals of Dia and the mortals of Nia drifted apart and territory disputes began. The spirits recognized the threat their fighting possessed and so they met away from the mortal place to discuss how to proceed. Negotiations were tense. The conclave nearly quit or came to blows but weeks later, they came to a conclusion: ritual combat.
Every 10 years, the Children of Nia and the Favored would meet on the border of the territory of Dia and Nia to act as proxies for their guiding spirits. This would allow the world to remain in one piece and slake the spirits’ instinctual need to clash with each other.
The Dia didn’t change their practice. A single mortal would be raised, granted powers beyond mortal capacity, and rule the rest. This mortal would be the Dia’s champion at the Conclave event each year until the next Favored was old enough to carry the burden. However, the Nia had long lost their immortality. Instead, the trained their descendants in ancient techniques, melding magic with martial might. It was no secret they didn’t have the brute strength to overcome the Dia’s Favored so they learned. They studied everything they could, honed their skills day and night, and relied on each other. These families that dedicated themselves to the cause of the spirits became known as the Keepers of Nia. They swore a sacred vow to protect their communities from harm within and without. Many of the Keepers would step away from leadership roles because it clouded their ability to watch for threats impartially. Others took up the mantle eagerly and thrived.
So the world found an odd peace. Tensions between the communities faded away as the natural balance was found once again. It seemed a utopia.
Until 5000 years later, when a Favored discovered the Dia were only using the mortal race for their own gain and in his fury, massacred the Dia and absorbed the entirety of their powers. The Light consumed his mind, transforming him into an angelic beauty. His face turned to porcelain, forever twisted in the visage of his final lament, and he rose above his lands with only thoughts filled with the greed of the Dia. They fed him and his need for power extended past the lands of his people. His advisors begged him against and he branded them as heretics, killing them in the streets of their own home. The horror that he saw that day marked his entire people as traitors and he considered them worthless. Now called the Archon, he used his powers to warp his people into immortal creatures made in his own image. Twisted beauties, they became known as the Favored. Like the Archon, each face was now a porcelain mask displaying whatever last expression that had before the transformation claimed their minds.
The Archon declared war and it was brutal. Faced with the unrelenting might of Light and the unchecked fury of the Archon at the mere existence of Dark, the Keepers were soon forced to retreat. They herded as many as they could into the inner territories, setting wards and barriers to stall the Archon’s advance. They established cities with walls and gates infused with shadow, developed techniques that allowed their blades to drip darkness, and mastered guerrilla warfare and infiltration. The varied techniques of the past slowly died as the Keepers fought for survival.
Those caught outside the protected cities would soon find their minds succumbing to the light of the Archon and warping into one of its Favored. The Favored knew nothing of compassion, of mercy. They only knew of the ever growing hunger for power and conquest. To make matters worse, the Keepers discovered that the longer the war continued, the more new generations were born without the connection to the Nia. Hope was a scarce resource as 10 of the 12 cities collapsed beneath the Archon’s might and the remaining free mortals began to starve without the land to feed themselves.
Driven to desperate measures, the Keepers infiltrated the Archon’s Citadel in hopes of stumbling across any information on a critical weakness of the Archon and its Favored. Instead, they learned the nightmarish ritual the Archon used to strip the Dia of their power and start its age of unending bloodshed. They barely managed to escape with the information but the sacrifices they suffered were not in vain.
It took a century to complete the ritual. The second of the remaining free cities was battered with the renewed wrath of the Archon. Previous failures to complete the ritual cost the Keepers another life but in the end, the Keepers stripped themselves and their ancestors of their power and imbued it into one single child. Malvira Nia was raised under strict tutelage with the understanding that she was the child ever Keeper―no. Every mortal―placed their hopes in. It was stifling. A burden put on shoulders not yet strong enough to hold it. So she ran.
It would take years but watching the sister city of her own crumble beneath the Favored woke her up to the necessity of her destiny. She threw herself into her training, rallying the people behind her, and rode out to push back the Favored with her own soldiers besides her. For the first time in 5000 years, the Keepers won a battle.
The war was tough and at every corner, Malvira Nia was there to restore her soldier's resolve and defend them in battle. But as great of a leader, a general, and a soldier she was, anyone under her command would acknowledge that she was distant and cold. Most commended her dedication, even expected it, but those closest to her knew she accepted death as a certainty and they fought back against it. Those who grew up with her, her tutors, and even the few stragistest she worked closely with worked to make her open up, to accept that they could figure out a solution in which she lives because nothing in this world is ever certain.
It took the near death of someone she loved to make her change her mind. Malvira was known for risky operations that only relied on her but the soldier who would become Malvira’s life partner interfered when Malvira was close to failure, successfully turning the tide of the operation but nearly dying in the process. Mavira learned that day what she would be leaving behind if she died recklessly and her operations became less risky, more calculated. It drove her forced forward even faster. The old Keepers learned how to revert the Favored from their twisted state back to mortality and their numbers swelled.
It was a tale as old as time. The inevitable clash of Light and Dark that would put an end to this war once and for all. The Archon discovered Malvira’s love and capitalized on it, manipulating the resistance forces to sending her life partner and another small group to infiltrate what was supposedly a low risk encampment that the Archon itself would appear at moments after the group’s capture. Malvira was handling a wave of new Favored assaults when she received the news. She turned on her heel and rode into the night to face the Archon face on without a word to anyone.
The Archon’s intent was to mow Malvira down with the Favored but its pride demanded he accept the challenge she threw in its face. Their battle lasted three days and three nights. Her forces rallied to her, trying to penetrate the heart of the encampment to offer the last Keeper their support but they couldn’t keep up with the sheer numbers. Her friends, her family, her soldiers fell to the light and transformed into Favored even as she battled it’s source. Malvira’s rage and desperation built with every fallen friend.
The dawn of the fourth day broke the stalemate. The building fury finally exploded and drove her blade, dripping with Darkness, into the Archon’s heart and he crumbled to the ground, the Light fading as he did. The Favored shifted back. It was a painful, terrifying process but eventually the Favored would return to their mortal forms once more. Malvira thought she’d escaped.
But the Archon had one final curse. A spiteful curse on this land and those who defied him, the Archon uttered it with its final breath and a torrent of Light was unleashed on the world. For there to be harmony, Light and Darkness must be in balance and now that Light was let back into the world, Malvira knew the Darkness inside her was needed as well. She gave herself over to the Dark and she faded along with the Archon, the darkness pouring out of her to neutralize the Archon’s curse.
Legends: Any legends or stories about your character prior to being reincarnated. Combat Affinities:
Jiu jitsu
Ninjutsu
Judo
Kendo
Kyudo
Naginata-do
Magic Affinities: Shadow Magic: Conjuring weapons, Physical augmentation (self and objects), and movement enhancement. Extra:
Plight of the Martyr: A fractal of your past life that you carried with you. Holds your status points for combat in the future. Stamina: 4 Strength: 4 Dexterity: 8 Intellect: 3 Faith : 1
Hiya, AChronum here! Although I'm relatively new to rping, I have plenty of writing experience and love trying new genres and styles. I absolutely love high magic fantasy RPs and am pretty much willing to do anything so long as I can create a charaxter, not play an existing one, and develop lots and lots of backstory! I'm perfectly comfortable with all mature themes as well, although smut for smut's sake is out of the question.
Interested in an RP? Send me a PM and have a magically marvelous day!
<div style="white-space:pre-wrap;">Hiya, AChronum here! Although I'm relatively new to rping, I have plenty of writing experience and love trying new genres and styles. I absolutely love high magic fantasy RPs and am pretty much willing to do anything so long as I can create a charaxter, not play an existing one, and develop lots and lots of backstory! I'm perfectly comfortable with all mature themes as well, although smut for smut's sake is out of the question.<br><br>Interested in an RP? Send me a PM and have a magically marvelous day! </div>
Member
Morose
RPM
Blue Wolf
Scrawl Banditta
Lucid Dreaming
Kirah
teenangstlife
TokyoPewPew
