Cu Chulainn

Epic of Beginnings - Dawns Cradle

Dawn
_{Chasing Wolves}

---

Logically speaking, the wolves killing the Kyrnith's deer would more than likely just be interpreted as an unfortunate circumstance rather than an insult, a case of nature taking its course. Still, there was also the chance that the wolves killing these deer may draw the ire of the Elder Beast of Howling Winds. Moreso, given the fickleness of these deific beings, the Kyrnith may even interpret the villagers allowing these deer to be slaughtered by the wolves as a grave insult. While this was normally something he would be fine with disputing, Gideon knew that Dawn could not handle another Elder Beast attack. Because of this, Gideon had moved quickly, easily understanding the gravity of their situation.

First off, he would swipe the edge of his spear's head to the one demotivated wolf's calf, ensuring it wouldn't encircle him from behind. The Raam would then run at an angle in a way where his spear wouldn't accidentally pierce one of the deer. With a calculated throw, he would release his spear, aiming to hit the farther wolf at its center of mass to ensure maximum accuracy. Finally, he would run up an inclined log, leaping towards the third wolf and using his sheer weight to steer his momentum closer to his target. Gideon had stretched his arms outward as he threw himself, his hands ready to grasp at his final target. If he wasn't able to completely land on the third wolf, Gideon would at least ensure he was able to grab it by its hind legs to stop it in its tracks.

Epic of Beginnings - Dawns Cradle

Dawn
_{Wolf in Raam's Clothing}

---

Seelay's insights, while both welcome and more assuring, were quite strange to Gideon. He never found wolves to taste particularly foul. Then again, he never really has an opinion on most of the things he eats. After all, a Raam needs to eat much more than a human of their size would require. Such biological needs have likely lead to Gideon abandoning his sense of taste for the sake of surviving with whatever he can eat.

But then again, this wasn't the right time to ponder about the tastes of certain meats.

The situation seemed pretty dire, all things considered. It wasn't exactly one Gideon hadn't found himself from before, although he also didn't have to factor his quarry potentially incurring the wrath of an Elder Beast. Still, of the three, it was clear what his role was in the situation at hand. While Seelay and Akando could likely get the three deer with their combined prowess, Gideon was better suited to scare the wolves off, or at least draw their ire away. Of all the foes he had faced in his travels, wolves were among the most numerous he had encountered.

"Understood. Good luck on the deer." Gideon responded as he made his way towards the wolves, scooping his hand downward to retrieve a handful of rocks. The trajectory, the force he needed to throw each rock, the place where each rock would land... all these were calculated by Gideon on the fly. A lethal shine could be seen from his eyes as he gazed upon the wolves, allowing the rocks held into his hand to fall between each of his fingers as he prepared to make his throw. And no sooner than this did Gideon finally released the rocks, once at a time, to their respective targets.

The wolf that Gideon had detected as the "alpha" of the pack would receive a flurry of harsh boops to its snout as a hail of rocks pelted its face.

As the leader of the pack would suffer a horrifying fate worse than death, Gideon would then leap a few paces in front of the pack, utilizing the weight of his steel body to create a sense of gravitas. Quickly, he extended his arms outward to his side to make himself look bigger than he really was before bellowing a fearsome roar, imitating that of a bear. He wasn't sure of their natural instincts inclined them to fear bears specifically as he wasn't quite sure whether or not they existed in this ecosystem. Still, it was quite scary how eerily close Gideon was to imitating the roar of a beast...

The Storm Cycle: Reclamation

The Swordwind Fleweth

---

Having crashed into the ground after being thrown, Marduk had taken a bit of a breather recovering from the Fomorian's grasp. He coughed up a bit of bloodied spittle, his insides having been crushed. As he sat up, he punched the ground in anger, enraged that he allowed himself to be grasped by the beast. To allow himself to be taken out of the battle by such a loathsome foe... Naught else could be more dishonorable than such a thing.

Marduk's Elven blood boiled within his veins, the anger of his progenitor burning him from within. The bodies that surrounded him, the cursed monstrosities that infest the town... such transgressions had awakened the remnants of his forebears before him. The very notion that this one-eyed foe continued to draw breath only enraged Marduk even further. He could feel the impatience of his ancestor, who desired the beast's head to be separated from its body at this instant. Marduk could feel it within, the urging of his ancestor to take action with their own hands.

Indeed, Marduk's ancestor wished to join the fight in earnest to bring justice to the fallen, and to bring this beast's foul existence to an end.

The warrior took a few deep breaths, recalling the meditation techniques taught to him by his Elven caretakers. He was well aware that while fully allowing himself to be overtaken by his Leargas was something that would quickly end this fight, he also knew that he would lose himself in the process, being replaced by his ever-wrathful ancestor. Being locked into your own body, having it moved by another being without your own volition. To Marduk, such a thing was a fate worse than death, moreso with his current understanding of what would replace him.

So instead, he took a moment to calm down, to gather the situation before him better. The shambling town, while a depressing sight, also bore its own fruit. Multiple avenues to enter the fight were available, especially those that allowed Marduk to disappear from his foe's one-eyed sight for a time. It helped that Marduk has miraculously landed near the Fomorian that bore his cloak. With a plan finally set and his angery somewhat quelled, Marduk spat out the rest of the blood that gathered in his throat as he made his first moves.

Marduk quickly recloaked himself, staying low and allowing himself to disappear with the smoke and rubble that permeated the ruined market. His cloak helped in that regard, blending in with the wood and stone of the marketplace easily. He then ran opposite from the direction of the battle far enough to where he would seemingly disappear from the combat entirely before leaping upward atop the market stalls. Marduk quickly leapt between each stall as he slowly built an elevation advantage before reaching one of the nearby buildings.

It was then that Marduk would start making his way back to the battle, using the heightened elevation to stay out of the Fomorian's sight. His footfalls were eerily silent, his steps all but muffled with his Elven boots. Maneuvering to where he was relatively behind the Cyclops and away from its line of site, Marduk watched and waited for the right opportunity to interject.

However, the opportunity seemed to have already made itself apparent upon Marduk's arrival.

As the Fomorian spoke its rudimentary Common, Marduk noticed it was currently embroiled in a contest of muscle against the knight blessed with immense strength. Marduk would also notice that the Fomorian's weight was also focused in one particular direction. Knowing this, and postulating the upper limits of the knight's strength, the Elf-blooded warrior would move quickly to set his plan into motion.

The golden light of his Leargas once again shone and shimmered in his hands, except this time it took the shape of a mighty spear, its head in the shape of a short blade. He had it pointed right at the Fomorian's head, braced to pierce its skull. He made sure to make eye contact with Reinhardt as he set his attack into motion, ensuring that he got the message.

Marduk simply wished to play baseball, and he had hoped that Reinhardt would be up to the bat.

Epic of Beginnings - Dawns Cradle

Dawn
_{Preparations for the Hunt}

---

"The Kyrnith..." The name itself sounded familiar, but the description of this Elder Beast's power had only confirmed Gideon's suspicions. "I believe I may have come across one of its... siblings, I believe is the correct word, in my travels. However, instead of commanding the wind, it called the very earth with its footfalls. Perhaps this is a story for another time, though." Gideon stated, as a matter of fact. Indeed, it is quite interesting that he may encounter another one of the Four Deer in his lifetime. Still, he wondered just how different this Kyrnith is to the Kvallin...

As far as what the targets of their hunt entail, it was a topic Gideon had pondered only briefly. It seemed that each beast had their own advantages and disadvantages to hunting. It was also clear that hunting for this Pandillo may as well resolve the immediate issue of hunter in the village. However, this was still unfamiliar terrain to Gideon. He needed more experience hunting here before he could be sure of his and his allies' capabilities in hunting such dangerous game. And while he had spent some of the time travelling testing bits of the soil with his spear, he is sure that he will need to collect samples of this land's soil to study, as well.

Another factor Gideon considered was the extent of his abilities, as well as his hunting companions. He had no doubt that both Akando and Seelay were formidable hunters in their own right. This did not mean that there was still more data to collect regarding their skills and prowess, to properly strategize a plan to hunt something like a Pandillo. Despite his lone wanderings, the importance of teamwork was very much drilled in to the Raam's mind during the first ten years after his creation. And to properly work as a team, one must understand their strengths and weaknesses in action.

Finally, they needed to work efficiently, now more than ever. Village resources are dry, which meant the more they could hunt, the better off everyone would be. Recovering from such destruction would take more than a day, but that didn't mean they could make a most of those days, down to the very seconds spent.

"While I have no doubts in either of your capabilities in hunting something as ferocious as a Pandillo," Gideon began, lying as naturally as he breathed, "we should try and hunt what we know is nearby. What we know is that we can easily hunt wolves, deer, and swordbills. We also know that out of the three, the wolves and deer give a better yield of meat. Finally, of those two, each poses their own risks. The wolves are natural predators and pack animals, so it is more than likely we will be outnumbered in hunting them, but hunting the deer may pose the risks of incurring the wrath of another Elder Beast, one that we cannot risk incurring on the village at this time.

"So while I believe we should work our way towards hunting a Pandillo, it would not be unwise of us to also try and hunt some 'lesser' beasts on the way to our true quarry. While both pose their risks, we will have to cross those bridges when we get there. For now, we must decide if we desire to hunt the wolves or the deer."

The Storm Cycle: Reclamation

The Swordwind Cometh

---

Marduk was surprised that such a cursed man was a knight of all things, and had also been fighting the Fomorians. It was a good thing that this knight was not leading the Fomorians as he had initially surmised, but has been instead sent here to stave them off. To Marduk, it meant there were weirdos just like him in this world, weirdos who have also answered the call to battle. He smiled just a bit as this 'Ethelred' rode away.

This smile would quickly shift into concern and worry as Marduk would notice the sun setting far too soon, before getting slammed into the ground by a sudden goblinoid from the sky. His sword would disappear at an instant as he was struck by the thing, his shimmering cloak covered with the dirt, grime, and cursed blood that stained the ground beneath him. Of course, such a slight had made Marduk reasonably pissed. It was a good thing that he didn't see the source of who threw this goblin, else these knights would all find themselves another dangerous adversary.

There was no time to dawdle, however. A dread aura had entered Marduk's sights, one that was far greater than any threat he had faced thus far. Sitting up, he'd look straight at the armored monstrosity. The mere appearance of such a beast had caused the blood in Marduk's veins to fire up, offended by this beast's mere existence. Standing himself up and preparing to pounce at the one-eyed giant, Marduk's bubbling rage had made itself apparent as he roared a primal roar towards the monster.

Before he was fully blinded by his rage, however, Marduk would see another stranger enter the fray. It was a man in armor, with strength that could rival his own, leaping into the throes of the Cyclops and drawing its attention. Marduk's anger faded only slightly, just enough for him to see the reason in this knight's action. He would not let such an ample opportunity go to waste.

First off, Marduk would snap the neck of the goblin that had crashed into him, turning its head a complete 180 degrees. He would then quickly unbuckle his cloak, quickly throwing the hood onto the Fomorian as he would drag the rest of its body by its arm. He would then make his way towards the cyclops, running towards this enemy with his staff in one hand and the mangled corpse of a Fomorian in the other.

The Elven weapon-masters had taught Marduk many things revolving the arts of warfare. One such lesson was the usage of uniforms, identifying marks that would allow one to tell friend from foe in the heat of battle. It was these familiar things that ensured soldiers would not turn on their allies when emboldened by the fury of combat, and for these soldiers to work more properly as an organized unit. Of course, if told to wear a uniform by his a superior, Marduk would tell them to suck his unit instead. He disliked the usage of uniforms as it also meant that the enemy would more easily identify him, and that the element of surprise would be robbed from the engagement.

It was through this logic that Marduk's gambit had come to fruition. The Elves, who saw the Fomorians as cursed hounds who are better off being put down than to let their illness fester, hated the Fomorians with a passion more personal than any of the other denizens of Albion could possibly carry. As such, the few skirmishes they would carry among their cursed kin would be particularly bloody. The Fomorians, in contrast, hated the Elves in return, directed by the hatred of their cursed towards the uncorrupted. Their primitive intelligence had lead them towards all life, indiscriminately slaughtering them to meet the the desires of their Unseelie masters.

This Cyclops seemed to have some form of advanced thought compared to its lesser kin. After all, it was wearing armor, cowardly as it may be. Still, even if it carried the faintest fragments of intelligence that separated it from the rest, it was still a raving mad beast in the end, lead by simple instinct. It also helped that the foe was occupied, its vision potentially obscured by the knight who had chosen to enter combat with the beast. Surely, if it were to see a figure garbed in a Cloak of Elvenkind, it wouldn't think twice but to smash it.

"Eye over here, ugly!" Marduk yelled towards the Cyclops, directing his voice to the direction opposite of the giant foe's club before throwing the cloaked Fomorian towards that same direction. Once that was completed, Marduk quickly grabbed his staff with his opposite hand, placing one of its flat ends to the ground in front of him and utilizing the momentum of his charge to vault upwards. Much like the knight before him, Marduk soared into the sky, his Elven agility being made apparent as he had left little indentation on the ground in contrast. Somersaulting into the air and towards the Cyclops, Marduk's spectral greatsword would shimmer into existence once more as he began his descent towards his foe.

Marduk had hoped his own distraction would work, especially when compounded with the other knight's. Ideally, the Cyclops would slam its spiked club into his makeshift decoy, leaving its unprotected arms open long enough for Marduk to cut one of them clean off. Even if that wasn't the case, so long as he was able to lay a clean strike on the unarmored portions of the beast, his blessed blade would burn away at the cursed rot that permeated the thing.

The Storm Cycle: Reclamation

The Swordwind Cometh

---

As sudden as the storm of Fomorians that had appeared in the village, so too did a tempest of glistening gold. Among the grotesque gnashing and groaning of the cursed kin, there arose the primal roar of none other than a man cloaked in shimmering robes. He would descend from the rooftops as if appearing from the very skies, a quarterstaff of verdant brown wood pointed directly at the back of one of the quadruped Fomorian's skull. With a sickening crunch, the cloaked man would land on the beast, his staff crushing its skull into many pieces. The momentum of his landing caused the monster's body to messily skid across the field, leaving behind a trail of black blood as the cloaked figure glared at the closest two goblinoid Fomorians, his emerald eyes overtaken with a dull golden hue; to those familiar with the Elves, it is one of many signs that one is entranced by their Leargas.

Before the Fomorians could act further, the cloaked man released his staff as two iridescent golden daggers coalesced into his hands. They would each be swiftly thrown, striking both cursed creatures. One would find purchase in its target's shoulder, obliterating much of its upper torso with burning gold as its arm would wildly fly away from the rest of its body, while the second dagger would cleanly fly into the other's howling mouth, disintegrating much of its head in a mist of golden ash. It's as if these very blades burned away at the curse that permeated the flesh of these monstrosities, unravelling them at their core.

As more of the Fomorians approached the new arrival, the daggers would fade away as the man spun in a flourish. As he did, an ethereal golden sword, far larger than any normal man could wield, appeared in his hands. It tore through the charging Fomorians, leaving a mist of gore and gold in its wake. Their mutilated bodies all fell, their wounds searing with blessed cinders. As the man had spun, his hood would fall off, revealing his very visage: he was young, unnaturally so, his stark white hair painting a contrast to his otherwise youthly face. Unlike most entranced Elves, it was painted with an expression of pure anger, as if the very existence of the cursed beasts that lay before the warrior offends him greatly.

"You all will wish you didn't betray the last god you could pray to! Come, fall by my blade, children of blight! Fall by the blade of the Swordwind!" He howled an open challenge to the Fomorians, slamming the tip of his blade into the ground and making a grandiose pose, revealing his muscular form, unarmored and unchained. Soon, his eyes would center on a particularly cursed figure, an interested grin painted on his face as he eyed the Knight Encased in Ice.

"You... you reek of curses. Show me what you can do."

Epic of Beginnings - Dawns Cradle

Dawn
_{Preparations for the Hunt}

---

Gideon was quick to discern those who would stick out from the villagers, some more than others. He didn't want to point fingers just yet, especially when there were more pressing matters to attend to. Still, it would be good to approach some of these... alleged chosen at some point in time. It would be good to speak to them in order to get a better grasp of their task at hand. They were all chosen for a reason, after all. At the very least, it was good that one of the more obvious of the chosen had also elected to help with hunting. An Elf huntress hailing from the Tamaln forest... Gideon could only recall fond memories of the Forest Elves there.

"Ah, the pleasure's mine, master Enli." Gideon bowed to the elder of the village humbly. "And yes. I've survived my share of bad weather in my travels, but if it wasn't for Akala's aid, you may as well be talking to an icicle." He then turned to the priestess. Perhaps she could provide guidance to his mission, as well? Nonetheless, he nodded to her question as he cleared his throat.

"That is correct, o gracious priestess of the Moon Goddess. My people believe in solidarity above all else. It is important to work together, especially since there's so little of us. To a Raam, every individual life is precious, as life to us is a gift seldom granted by the Forgefather's hands. If there's anywhere I can dedicate my skills to here in Dawn, then I shall do so to the best of my ability. I do have to inquire to you abo-"

Gideon's attention would then be grabbed once more by the proud elf, namely the much more boastful fairy that appeared over her shoulder. His pale face grew somewhat paler as he recalled the very few run-ins he had with the fey. He looked at his boots to ensure they weren't laced together, and stretched his fingers in case they were also intertwined. Sighing in relief at his free appendages, he would bow respectfully in acknowledgment of the duo.

"I've only had pleasant experiences with the Cosain, and I'm glad to have the power of a fairy on our side." Gideon nodded just before Akando would interject. Gideon nodded once more to the de facto leader of the hunters as they would begin to set off, listening intently to his guidance.

"I see, I'm glad I had come across this village at the time I did, then." Gideon stated as Akando spoke of his grievances. "You may call me Gideon. I'm well-versed in the hunting of beasts, myself. It's an especially important skill for a wandering Raam to have, after all. I can't say I'm familiar with these woods, though, or this 'Kyrnith' that haunts them." He took a note of this hunter's clothing, as well as the others he was able to see. Wolves... they were something Gideon was quite familiar with hunting. Deer, as well, may not prove too much of an issue.

At the mentioning of weapons, Gideon looked over to the spear slung over his shoulder. He would grasp it, spinning it in his hands before resting the haft of it to the snow. It was quite an ugly thing, bearing no notable craftsman's marks, but having many scratches from years of battle.

"You won't have to worry about that. This spear of mine's been with me for twenty winters. It has not failed me yet, and I don't believe it will now." Gideon spoke with an uncharacteristic pride. His eyebrow would be raised at the mention of the Kyrnith once more, namely its status as an Elder Beast.

"While we are here, though... Please, tell me all you know of this Kyrnith. I've heard many a tale of their might and majesty. Even had a close call or two with their kin, as we all have had just recently. Would this being be of the same power to the one that had razed this village with the blizzard?"

The Storm Cycle: Reclamation

In spite of his rage, he is still just an... elf on a shelf?

Name: Marduk Swordwind

Age: Late 20s

Gender: Male

Appearance:
A jaded man with a foul mouth, Marduk stands at a measly 5'7" and bears an impressively athletic build. What betrays his Elven heritage are his otherworldly youth, piercing emerald eyes, and hair white as snow. He usually dresses sparsely, preferring mobility over protection in most engagements and trusting in the speed of his Elven blood.

Abilities:
Stronger and faster than the average human, Marduk possesses the body of a natural warrior. While it isn't particularly hardy, his mastery of arms allows him to hold most foes at bay. His proficiency with most forms of weaponry is his greatest skill, having been trained by Elven weapon-masters who possess centuries of experience in the art of war. He has particularly trained in the usage of the staff, seeing it as an "origin point" for most other combat forms. Marduk was able to pick up such skills rather quickly due to his particularly potent Elven blood, and his strong connection to his Leargas. Such a connection was awakened when Marduk had "consumed" a fairy.

Marduk's Leargas in question is quite powerful, even in comparison to the ones that most Elves possess, his ancestor possessing a strong warrior's spirit. By drawing upon the memories of his ancestor, Marduk is capable of summoning divine shades of his ancestor's weapons, each one artifacts of a god from a bygone era. Blessed constructs of light that burn away curses, he can only summon one armament at a time. However, the more he taps into the hidden power of such weapons, the further he risks himself of getting completely possessed by his ancestor, losing his sense of self in the process. Even now, Marduk is prone to fits of rage in the midst of combat, the wrath of his ancestor forever beating in his heart, a bloodlust that only a life of battle could quell.

It is believed that finding the artifacts of his ancestor would give Marduk a greater control of his Leargas, perhaps even quell his ancestor's rage in full. However, they are all lost to time, having been scattered since the betrayal of the Fairies. These weapons are a great sword, a war hammer, a pair of daggers, and a spear. By giving an "anchor" to the memories of his ancestor's armaments, perhaps Marduk could even unlock their true potential...

History:
A man of few words, with those few words being foul and uncouth, much of Marduk's past is shrouded in mystery. His earliest memory was that one fateful night. He was merely a child, and he had awoken to a scene of bloodshed, one where the bodies of many Fomorians were strewn across the ground before him. In his hands, he had clutched the remains of a fairy, its blood painted all over his face. Not soon after was he taken in by a group of Elves, still very dazed and confused. It was then that he was given the name "Marduk," among other things, namely being told that his Leargas had awakened, and he was the host to a powerful ancestral spirit.

Afterwards, Marduk remembered being raised among the Elves, having taught many things by their kin. From meditation techniques he found rather boring, to feats of arms that he was particularly excited about, Marduk was immersed in their fading warrior culture. Unbeknownst to him, he was raised among a particular sect of Elves, a warrior cult with ties to Marduk's Elven ancestor. Even so, they declined to share with Marduk anything significant of his ancestry. Not that he cared too much in the end, although the constant secret-keeping grated on the youth as he grew older. It didn't help that the very same Elves held high expectations of Marduk, constantly comparing him with his particular ancestor. And as much as he desired to leave, the Elves insisted that he must stay and complete his training, as his bloodline would mark him as a target of the Fomorians.

It wasn't until he had spent his twentieth long winter with the Elves that they finally had shared with Marduk the secrets of his ancestor. The weapons he was able to draw out from his Leargas were scattered all around Albion, and it was his solemn duty to find each of these weapons, as only those of Marduk's ancestry are capable of truly wielding them. He was also informed that the reason the Elves were so hard on Marduk was because his Leargas required great discipline in order to truly wield, a lesson deeply ingrained within Marduk. Frankly, Marduk thought this was all a crock of bullshit, but didn't mind finally being left off the hook for once. Now, sent off with such a lofty goal in mind, Marduk was quick to learn more about the land of Albion, not knowing that his every action from here would be heavily scrutinized by powers beyond his control.

Anything else:
Not knowing his ancestor's true identity or name, Marduk refers to his Leargas as "Sharur," something he's heard the Elves whisper in hushed tones. He believes Sharur to be the dynasty of an ancient ruler or warlord of sorts, seeing as the Elves believe he is of royal blood.

While he acts like he barely knows the language, Marduk seems to be quite fluent in Elvish, possibly due to the influence of his Leargas. He would rather play the fool, however, if it meant listening in on juicy Elf gossip.

Marduk's ancestors had exiled themselves a short time before the Elves betrayed the last of the gods. Because of this, Marduk carries a seething hatred for the Fomorians and the Unseelie, one that he seldom is able to hold back. Gods forbid if his ancestor had any say in such matters.

Marduk's strength is quite baffling as he is capable of wielding weapons larger than any human would, let alone one of his lithe frame. Perhaps it is due to his diet?

It seems that although he is trained in ranged combat, Marduk shuns the use of dedicated ranged weaponry, including the bow and arrow, a favorite of the Elves. When asked, he merely comments that such weapons are "chicken shit." This same sentiment is held for most forms of armor.

Marduk carries with his person a wooden staff enchanted with durability and hardness, his primary weapon so he doesn't have to solely rely on his Leargas. He also wears the standard cloak and boots of the elves, equipment that allows him to skulk about silently and without being seen. Particularly effective within wooded lands.

The Storm Cycle: Reclamation

It's angry elf hours.

IM ANGRY, ANGRY ABOUT FEY

Name: Marduk Swordwind

Age: Late 20s

Gender: Male

Appearance:
A jaded man with a foul mouth, Marduk stands at a measly 5'7" and bears an impressively athletic build. What betrays his Elven heritage are his otherworldly youth, piercing emerald eyes, and hair white as snow. He usually dresses sparsely, preferring mobility over protection in most engagements and trusting in the speed of his Elven blood.

Abilities:
Stronger and faster than the average human, Marduk possesses the body of a natural warrior. While it isn't particularly hardy, his mastery of arms allows him to hold most foes at bay. His proficiency with most forms of weaponry is his greatest skill, having been trained by Elven weapon-masters who possess centuries of experience in the art of war. He has particularly trained in the usage of the staff, seeing it as an "origin point" for most other combat forms. Marduk was able to pick up such skills rather quickly due to his particularly potent Elven blood, and his strong connection to his Leargas. Such a connection was awakened when Marduk had "consumed" a fairy.

Marduk's Leargas in question is quite powerful, even in comparison to the ones that most Elves possess, his ancestor possessing a strong warrior's spirit. By drawing upon the memories of his ancestor, Marduk is capable of summoning divine shades of his ancestor's weapons, each one artifacts of a god from a bygone era. Blessed constructs of light that burn away curses, he can only summon one armament at a time. However, the more he taps into the hidden power of such weapons, the further he risks himself of getting completely possessed by his ancestor, losing his sense of self in the process. Even now, Marduk is prone to fits of rage in the midst of combat, the wrath of his ancestor forever beating in his heart, a bloodlust that only a life of battle could quell.

It is believed that finding the artifacts of his ancestor would give Marduk a greater control of his Leargas, perhaps even quell his ancestor's rage in full. However, they are all lost to time, having been scattered since the betrayal of the Fairies. These weapons are a great sword, a war hammer, a pair of daggers, and a spear. By giving an "anchor" to the memories of his ancestor's armaments, perhaps Marduk could even unlock their true potential...

History:
A man of few words, with those few words being foul and uncouth, much of Marduk's past is shrouded in mystery. His earliest memory was that one fateful night. He was merely a child, and he had awoken to a scene of bloodshed, one where the bodies of many Fomorians were strewn across the ground before him. In his hands, he had clutched the remains of a fairy, its blood painted all over his face. Not soon after was he taken in by a group of Elves, still very dazed and confused. It was then that he was given the name "Marduk," among other things, namely being told that his Leargas had awakened, and he was the host to a powerful ancestral spirit.

Afterwards, Marduk remembered being raised among the Elves, having taught many things by their kin. From meditation techniques he found rather boring, to feats of arms that he was particularly excited about, Marduk was immersed in their fading warrior culture. Unbeknownst to him, he was raised among a particular sect of Elves, a warrior cult with ties to Marduk's Elven ancestor. Even so, they declined to share with Marduk anything significant of his ancestry. Not that he cared too much in the end, although the constant secret-keeping grated on the youth as he grew older. It didn't help that the very same Elves held high expectations of Marduk, constantly comparing him with his particular ancestor. And as much as he desired to leave, the Elves insisted that he must stay and complete his training, as his bloodline would mark him as a target of the Fomorians.

It wasn't until he had spent his twentieth long winter with the Elves that they finally had shared with Marduk the secrets of his ancestor. The weapons he was able to draw out from his Leargas were scattered all around Albion, and it was his solemn duty to find each of these weapons, as only those of Marduk's ancestry are capable of truly wielding them. He was also informed that the reason the Elves were so hard on Marduk was because his Leargas required great discipline in order to truly wield, a lesson deeply ingrained within Marduk. Frankly, Marduk thought this was all a crock of bullshit, but didn't mind finally being left off the hook for once. Now, sent off with such a lofty goal in mind, Marduk was quick to learn more about the land of Albion, not knowing that his every action from here would be heavily scrutinized by powers beyond his control.

Anything else:
Not knowing his ancestor's true identity or name, Marduk refers to his Leargas as "Sharur," something he's heard the Elves whisper in hushed tones. He believes Sharur to be the dynasty of an ancient ruler or warlord of sorts, seeing as the Elves believe he is of royal blood.

While he acts like he barely knows the language, Marduk seems to be quite fluent in Elvish, possibly due to the influence of his Leargas. He would rather play the fool, however, if it meant listening in on juicy Elf gossip.

Marduk's ancestors had exiled themselves a short time before the Elves betrayed the last of the gods. Because of this, Marduk carries a seething hatred for the Fomorians and the Unseelie, one that he seldom is able to hold back. Gods forbid if his ancestor had any say in such matters.

Marduk's strength is quite baffling as he is capable of wielding weapons larger than any human would, let alone one of his lithe frame. Perhaps it is due to his diet?

It seems that although he is trained in ranged combat, Marduk shuns the use of dedicated ranged weaponry, including the bow and arrow, a favorite of the Elves. When asked, he merely comments that such weapons are "chicken shit." This same sentiment is held for most forms of armor.

Marduk carries with his person a wooden staff enchanted with durability and hardness, his primary weapon so he doesn't have to solely rely on his Leargas. He also wears the standard cloak and boots of the elves, equipment that allows him to skulk about silently and without being seen. Particularly effective within wooded lands.

Cacophony Concord

_{sheet
HP 2160/2160 SP 2370/2370 MP 3060/3060}

---

It was the end of the road, the end of a short run. No matter how much people he had that sniper kill off from their roaming, Leif knew he was dead meat sooner or later. After all, Arion only had so much in the tank. This little cat-and-mouse game they were playing was bound to end. They did merc some scrubs, at the very least, but was it really worth it in the end?

No time to ponder that now. As Arion's tank fizzled out its last shred of mana, Leif brought his bike to a full stop, kicking his feet up to the Nuclei's bars. He closed his eyes and let out a sigh, relaxing himself as he welcomed the sweet release of a day off this fucking game.

"Well, sorry for lugging you around this far, Klein. If you want to hop off and make a run for it, I can make myself a more appealing target." Leif sighed, content with his incoming demise.

Well, not exactly. If he lost his cool spear, he'd probably be pissed.

"... Huh?"

The friend request initially caught Leif by surprise. Did the ganker want to continue this song and dance, or was he just going to add him to gloat before finishing him off? Well, not like it really mattered to Leif too much.... Okay, it sort of did matter. He took far too much time punching demons for this spear of his. He'd rather not replay that episode again.

Leif has accepted Killer Gram's friend request.

"... Killer Gram, huh? Wild name."

Messing around with his menus, Leif figured he'd get straight to the point rather than bum around any longer. First things first, it was time to leave his current party. Not permanently, after all. It seems they were busy with their own things anyways... managing Ames' inn, was it? Next on the list was throwing a message to this edgelord, see what his deal was. Of course, he'd figure it would be best to start the conversation by establishing an equal footing with the guy pointing a hypothetical gun at his head.

[Whisper]: sup
[Whisper]: party?

Whatever this Killer Gram's reply would be, Leif would see the opportunity open itself up and start chomping down on lotus roots once more. After all, sitting around in the middle of a battle field with an empty gas tank was a pretty dumb thing to do.