Luckily the claws made it easier to do my elaborate break dance routine, which I proceeded to teach the distraught donkeys.
Gentlemanvaultboy Member
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- Gentlemanvaultboy 12 yrs ago
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Bio
I guess my comfort zone is "eccentric side character."
Most Recent Posts
Name: Deacon Marconi
Age: 47
Gender: Male
Appearance: A tall, broadly built man, Bald with dark blue eyes and skin that's deeply tanned and weathered from years of travel. He would have been quite handsome a few years and a couple of pounds ago, but age appears to have started biting at him something fierce. The most apparent thing about his face and the deep bags under his eyes.
Clothing/Armor: Black pants held up by suspenders, white shirt, black overcoat which appear to have been modified to have many more pockets that normal. Black shoes, meticulously shined. Black half cape worn over the left shoulder. Wears rings on all his fingers, each bearing the seal of a different secret society or fringe order, as well as over a dozen holy symbols on a necklace around his neck.
Belongings/Weapons: A black cane sword. A trunk, clung to for deer life, that contains his extra clothing, journals and notes, books on world religions and mysticism, alcohol, a shaving kit, pictures of his wives, a eclectic collection of drugs, candles, a silver chalice, a gold plated serpent, and a potato he had stolen from the ships kitchen.
Personality: Marconi would describe himself as a seeker of universal truth, and to a degree this is true. He is of an open and inquisitive mind, constantly seeking out new experiences and perspectives. However, how much of this can be attributed to simple hedonism is up for debate. He revels in excess and experience, and cares not for what other people think of him. His guiding philosophy is that one should do what one wants regardless of the consequences, and as such he doesn't hold other peoples actions against them or make judgements on their character. He is extremely hard to anger or repulse, and is genial regardless of who he is talking to. He is easy to befriend, but it is also extremely easy for him to cast friends aside when they become too burdensome. He enjoys his reputation as a wicked man and intentionally plays it up in public because he enjoys the reactions he receives. Despite his reputation he does not enjoy the sight of blood.
History: Deacon Marconi was born in the Sleythym empire to a rich, aristocratic family. His father was a whiskey magnate and alcoholic. His mother was a devout follower of Pricepia, the goddess of prudence and Order. After Marconi's father died in a boiler explosion the boys mother retreated into her religion, joining an extremely conservative fringe Pricepia church. She became inordinately controlling of her sons life, not allowing Marconi to leave the family manor and sheltering him from the evils of the world. If left to this he probably would have ended up a high priest or greater in the church. This was not to be.
Like most religious aspirations what derailed him from this path was sweet sweet sex. A dalliance with a maid at the age of fourteen opened his eyes to "all the joys of the world" and from that moment on he began to sneak out of his home and explore the wonders that the capital had to offer. For sometimes months at a time he would vanish, whoring, gambling, running with street gangs, returning many times blackened, bruised, and utterly broke. It was during one of these disappearances that he became involved in the Order of The Great Worm. He had never been able to completely shake the interest in religion he'd acquired from his mothers upbringing and made it fairly high within the cult before church inquisitors kicked in the door and began arresting people. This he evaded by hiding behind the door and slipping away in the chaos.
It is around this point that worry over his immortal soul began to drive Marconi's mother mad. Partly to placate her, and partly because he liked what he had seen of the inquisitors, he joined the clergy at the age of eighteen. He made Inquisitor at twenty one, covering any of his indiscretions with bribes and favors, and spent three years hunting seditious cults before his mother died and left him the estate. Having become bored of his position he confessed the misdeeds he'd perpetrated while acting as an Inquisitor, as well as naming everyone whom he'd bribed to look the other way, to three separate newspapers and was expelled from the clergy.
At twenty five he began attending Sleythym National University, graduating with honors in the fields of anthropology and religious studies at twenty eight. During this time he became deeply involved with the Six Circle Brotherhood, an order of mystics and wizards dedicated to commanding the forces of evil for the good of all mankind. He was thrown out of this order when he attempted a six month long ritual designed to summon all the evils of the world to face the caster and giving up two months on because the conditions of the ritual, particularly abstaining from things such as cooked food and sex, were not to his liking.
The consequence of breaking off this ritual was to be possessed by one hundred devils. The Brotherhood didn't really notice any changes in his behavior, but decided to err of the side of caution because how could you really tell with him?
After University he began traveling the world studying fringe religions and cults, on the basis that if any mainstream religion was the path to universal truth they'd have got there already. His peers pointed out that this was probably just an excuse for him to partake in heathen rituals, consume a truly heroic amount of drugs, and make love to the natives. Marconi replied that he never said his studies didn't have side benefits.
Since then he has written four books (three on the practices and beliefs of fringe religion and one of truly awful poetry), been married twice (both ending in divorce due to his rampant philandering, with one of his wives going mad afterwards), climbed one of the worlds largest mountains to study with the Yogi who lived atop it, killed seven men (two church assassins, three regular assassins, one jilted lover, and one dear friend who'd insisted on it), had deep religious experiences connected to many gods, thrown three legendary parties at his family manor, and cultivated a reputation as the wickedest man in Sleythym.
Before being shipwrecked he'd been on his way to the isle of Baha-Nan to live among the native Serpent Riders for half a year.
Age: 47
Gender: Male
Appearance: A tall, broadly built man, Bald with dark blue eyes and skin that's deeply tanned and weathered from years of travel. He would have been quite handsome a few years and a couple of pounds ago, but age appears to have started biting at him something fierce. The most apparent thing about his face and the deep bags under his eyes.
Clothing/Armor: Black pants held up by suspenders, white shirt, black overcoat which appear to have been modified to have many more pockets that normal. Black shoes, meticulously shined. Black half cape worn over the left shoulder. Wears rings on all his fingers, each bearing the seal of a different secret society or fringe order, as well as over a dozen holy symbols on a necklace around his neck.
Belongings/Weapons: A black cane sword. A trunk, clung to for deer life, that contains his extra clothing, journals and notes, books on world religions and mysticism, alcohol, a shaving kit, pictures of his wives, a eclectic collection of drugs, candles, a silver chalice, a gold plated serpent, and a potato he had stolen from the ships kitchen.
Personality: Marconi would describe himself as a seeker of universal truth, and to a degree this is true. He is of an open and inquisitive mind, constantly seeking out new experiences and perspectives. However, how much of this can be attributed to simple hedonism is up for debate. He revels in excess and experience, and cares not for what other people think of him. His guiding philosophy is that one should do what one wants regardless of the consequences, and as such he doesn't hold other peoples actions against them or make judgements on their character. He is extremely hard to anger or repulse, and is genial regardless of who he is talking to. He is easy to befriend, but it is also extremely easy for him to cast friends aside when they become too burdensome. He enjoys his reputation as a wicked man and intentionally plays it up in public because he enjoys the reactions he receives. Despite his reputation he does not enjoy the sight of blood.
History: Deacon Marconi was born in the Sleythym empire to a rich, aristocratic family. His father was a whiskey magnate and alcoholic. His mother was a devout follower of Pricepia, the goddess of prudence and Order. After Marconi's father died in a boiler explosion the boys mother retreated into her religion, joining an extremely conservative fringe Pricepia church. She became inordinately controlling of her sons life, not allowing Marconi to leave the family manor and sheltering him from the evils of the world. If left to this he probably would have ended up a high priest or greater in the church. This was not to be.
Like most religious aspirations what derailed him from this path was sweet sweet sex. A dalliance with a maid at the age of fourteen opened his eyes to "all the joys of the world" and from that moment on he began to sneak out of his home and explore the wonders that the capital had to offer. For sometimes months at a time he would vanish, whoring, gambling, running with street gangs, returning many times blackened, bruised, and utterly broke. It was during one of these disappearances that he became involved in the Order of The Great Worm. He had never been able to completely shake the interest in religion he'd acquired from his mothers upbringing and made it fairly high within the cult before church inquisitors kicked in the door and began arresting people. This he evaded by hiding behind the door and slipping away in the chaos.
It is around this point that worry over his immortal soul began to drive Marconi's mother mad. Partly to placate her, and partly because he liked what he had seen of the inquisitors, he joined the clergy at the age of eighteen. He made Inquisitor at twenty one, covering any of his indiscretions with bribes and favors, and spent three years hunting seditious cults before his mother died and left him the estate. Having become bored of his position he confessed the misdeeds he'd perpetrated while acting as an Inquisitor, as well as naming everyone whom he'd bribed to look the other way, to three separate newspapers and was expelled from the clergy.
At twenty five he began attending Sleythym National University, graduating with honors in the fields of anthropology and religious studies at twenty eight. During this time he became deeply involved with the Six Circle Brotherhood, an order of mystics and wizards dedicated to commanding the forces of evil for the good of all mankind. He was thrown out of this order when he attempted a six month long ritual designed to summon all the evils of the world to face the caster and giving up two months on because the conditions of the ritual, particularly abstaining from things such as cooked food and sex, were not to his liking.
The consequence of breaking off this ritual was to be possessed by one hundred devils. The Brotherhood didn't really notice any changes in his behavior, but decided to err of the side of caution because how could you really tell with him?
After University he began traveling the world studying fringe religions and cults, on the basis that if any mainstream religion was the path to universal truth they'd have got there already. His peers pointed out that this was probably just an excuse for him to partake in heathen rituals, consume a truly heroic amount of drugs, and make love to the natives. Marconi replied that he never said his studies didn't have side benefits.
Since then he has written four books (three on the practices and beliefs of fringe religion and one of truly awful poetry), been married twice (both ending in divorce due to his rampant philandering, with one of his wives going mad afterwards), climbed one of the worlds largest mountains to study with the Yogi who lived atop it, killed seven men (two church assassins, three regular assassins, one jilted lover, and one dear friend who'd insisted on it), had deep religious experiences connected to many gods, thrown three legendary parties at his family manor, and cultivated a reputation as the wickedest man in Sleythym.
Before being shipwrecked he'd been on his way to the isle of Baha-Nan to live among the native Serpent Riders for half a year.
I could play this.
I'm still watching it.
"Hahahahahaha." Semyaza laughed, rising to his feet at casting his arms to the sky. "What would these earthlings be without their audacity? In this moment, with our 'benefactors' trickery literally flowing in our veins, you expect me to take another earthling at her word? Do you believe my pride so damaged by this debacle I would think nothing of betraying my fealty for honeyed words and a promise? Absurd!"
"Prove your words, earthling, and I would throw away my pride in an instant." He continued, his voice taking on a hard edge. "But I will not degrade myself a moment sooner than I believe is necessary."
"Prove your words, earthling, and I would throw away my pride in an instant." He continued, his voice taking on a hard edge. "But I will not degrade myself a moment sooner than I believe is necessary."
Two eyes opened. Just two, on his head. They opened, and they narrowed.
"Queen Grigoria fell in battle with our enemies shorty after I did. Deprived of her shield was was forced to meet our foes herself, and is even now imprisoned somewhere on this wretched rock. I had intended to search for her as soon as I payed respect to Mr. Sinister for the opportunity. Even now the thought of her imprisoned was the only thing keeping me from destroying that butler as he spoke. I can not die until she is free."
It would be accurate to say that Semyaza did not possess the capacity for loyalty. As an artificial being he was very much like an ant. An ant has no concept of such a complex thing as loyalty. An ant operates on something simpler. Something primal. On one of what must be among the oldest emotions on the planet. Rose was entirely correct in her assessment. An ant, like Semyaza, like all Grigori, could be said to be driven by love. Unconditional love, so great as to be unimaginable. A love that crushed like a mace.
It was in this way that he was so much less than humankind.
"I do not believe," he said slowly, "It is possible for you to understand."
"Queen Grigoria fell in battle with our enemies shorty after I did. Deprived of her shield was was forced to meet our foes herself, and is even now imprisoned somewhere on this wretched rock. I had intended to search for her as soon as I payed respect to Mr. Sinister for the opportunity. Even now the thought of her imprisoned was the only thing keeping me from destroying that butler as he spoke. I can not die until she is free."
It would be accurate to say that Semyaza did not possess the capacity for loyalty. As an artificial being he was very much like an ant. An ant has no concept of such a complex thing as loyalty. An ant operates on something simpler. Something primal. On one of what must be among the oldest emotions on the planet. Rose was entirely correct in her assessment. An ant, like Semyaza, like all Grigori, could be said to be driven by love. Unconditional love, so great as to be unimaginable. A love that crushed like a mace.
It was in this way that he was so much less than humankind.
"I do not believe," he said slowly, "It is possible for you to understand."
Semyaza had been unable to actually ride within the submarine. Well, it might be better to say that he would have been able to were it not for his insistence upon bringing the gift. It was a simple Grigori token of gratitude, presenting your benefactor with the head of a powerful enemy, and he was completely unwilling to part with it. So he had leaned up against the tower, held on, and insisted that it would be fine. This is why he was the first to see the city skyline when they surfaced. Following the human to what he hoped would be a meeting with his master so he could get this token gesture out of the way and move on to important things, never having to see any of these people again. Warden Craftchenco's head was a bit to big to fit through the doorway, so he set it outside and followed the man in.
A few minutes later he burst back out the door, screaming, before grabbing the head, giving it a good three spins, and hurling it back across the street, over the docks, and back into the sea with a enormous splash. "FILTHY DISGUSTING HUMAN!" He shouted to the heavens. "Gloat now! Gloat while you can, for I will never forget this trickery! When my kind have subjugated this worthless planet you will have nowhere to run! I will hunt you to the end of my days, giving up my very life if need be, to ensure that you are dragged before my resplendent Queen in chains! You will be as a earth dog, subjected to every torture and indignity we are capable of envisioning. Then, when you are broken beyond repair and rendered into the simpering animal that you truly are, you will be kept alive forever and displayed as a monument to humanities misplaced self-importance! THIS I VOW AS A GRIGORI GENERAL!!!!!"
Then, still seething, and stormed back into the warehouse. Pointedly ignoring every amenity offered he picked a corner, sat down cross legged, and shut all of his eyes.
A few minutes later he burst back out the door, screaming, before grabbing the head, giving it a good three spins, and hurling it back across the street, over the docks, and back into the sea with a enormous splash. "FILTHY DISGUSTING HUMAN!" He shouted to the heavens. "Gloat now! Gloat while you can, for I will never forget this trickery! When my kind have subjugated this worthless planet you will have nowhere to run! I will hunt you to the end of my days, giving up my very life if need be, to ensure that you are dragged before my resplendent Queen in chains! You will be as a earth dog, subjected to every torture and indignity we are capable of envisioning. Then, when you are broken beyond repair and rendered into the simpering animal that you truly are, you will be kept alive forever and displayed as a monument to humanities misplaced self-importance! THIS I VOW AS A GRIGORI GENERAL!!!!!"
Then, still seething, and stormed back into the warehouse. Pointedly ignoring every amenity offered he picked a corner, sat down cross legged, and shut all of his eyes.
So any advice on how to appropriately hop in?
You could be crewing the submarine.
"My limits have been tested only once in my entire existence." Semyaza said, still a little bit punch drunk. He failed to mention that he had been found wanting in that test.
Walking to the fallen body of the warden he gripped it under the chin and began to pull. His muscles bulged unnaturally and, accompanied by the screaming sound of tearing metal and the snapping of wire, he tore the head right off the robot and set it on his shoulder to carry. Adjusting the weight until he was satisfied he could tote the head comfortably he set off toward the bay doors and the submarine.
Walking to the fallen body of the warden he gripped it under the chin and began to pull. His muscles bulged unnaturally and, accompanied by the screaming sound of tearing metal and the snapping of wire, he tore the head right off the robot and set it on his shoulder to carry. Adjusting the weight until he was satisfied he could tote the head comfortably he set off toward the bay doors and the submarine.
What flowed through Semyaza wasn't pain while he was in the grip of the wardens whip. The pain was there, of course. It simply wasn't the generals focus. Something else welled up and eclipsed the pain so completely it was as a drop of water in the sea.
Rage. Pure anger. Grabbing something and electrocuting it was a time honored tactic among Grigori warriors. For a human creation to utilize such an attack was to spit in the face of Semyaza's fallen comrades. He was so angry he didn't even notice when the root released him, didn't even feel the impact when he stopped. His eyes remained rooted on the enemy in front of him. He pounded the ground with his fist and jumped to his feet with a flourish ready to reprimand the thing so that it might know the reason it's demise was going to be exceptionally painful, his vision not wavering even as the robot surged with murderous intent. Surely, he thought, this would be a good battle!
That was about when he got stepped on. Just as he hadn't noticed that what arrested his flight was Rose, Rose in turn had apparently not noticed him in her rush to do battle. He was slower getting up onto his feet this time, and was only up to a kneeling position when a fragmentation grenade landed right in front of him. The resulting explosion threw him up onto the wall, where he was struck with a foam grenade nearly instantly. The foam expanded and stuck him there, but was still expanding when a smoke grenade landed in it and became stuck. This to exploded, releasing its payload directly over him.
"Simple trifles!" He yelled. "This will stop me not for a momen-"
If the smoke hand not been blocking his sight he would have endeavored to escape sooner rather than stopping to gloat. As thing stood he didn't the missile that had followed up the smoke grenade. He certainly saw the explosion though.
The blast was intense enough to not only destroy the foam but rebound him off the wall and send him flying across the room. Right over the head of the warden, in fact, whom he managed to fix with a steely glare for the half-moment before he tumbled over his head and onto the ground behind him. Rolling to his feet again he kept that glare and laughed heartily, wondering if this fool robot really thought one mere missile could oh yeah okay that many might do it.
A half-dozen eager little missiles had tracked his movement through the air and had decided that he was a much sexier target than any of the other, squishier, targets in the room. He brought out his wings and wrapped them around him a second to late as six explosions sounded off in succession.
Semyaza stumbled slowly out of the smoke, skin scorched and partially melted from the heat, and managed to slur out "Tha' all ya' ghot?" As if to answer his question he was bowled over by a sudden torrent of water.
General Semyaza would one day learn that there exists inappropriate times to gloat.
But this is not that day.
Rage. Pure anger. Grabbing something and electrocuting it was a time honored tactic among Grigori warriors. For a human creation to utilize such an attack was to spit in the face of Semyaza's fallen comrades. He was so angry he didn't even notice when the root released him, didn't even feel the impact when he stopped. His eyes remained rooted on the enemy in front of him. He pounded the ground with his fist and jumped to his feet with a flourish ready to reprimand the thing so that it might know the reason it's demise was going to be exceptionally painful, his vision not wavering even as the robot surged with murderous intent. Surely, he thought, this would be a good battle!
That was about when he got stepped on. Just as he hadn't noticed that what arrested his flight was Rose, Rose in turn had apparently not noticed him in her rush to do battle. He was slower getting up onto his feet this time, and was only up to a kneeling position when a fragmentation grenade landed right in front of him. The resulting explosion threw him up onto the wall, where he was struck with a foam grenade nearly instantly. The foam expanded and stuck him there, but was still expanding when a smoke grenade landed in it and became stuck. This to exploded, releasing its payload directly over him.
"Simple trifles!" He yelled. "This will stop me not for a momen-"
If the smoke hand not been blocking his sight he would have endeavored to escape sooner rather than stopping to gloat. As thing stood he didn't the missile that had followed up the smoke grenade. He certainly saw the explosion though.
The blast was intense enough to not only destroy the foam but rebound him off the wall and send him flying across the room. Right over the head of the warden, in fact, whom he managed to fix with a steely glare for the half-moment before he tumbled over his head and onto the ground behind him. Rolling to his feet again he kept that glare and laughed heartily, wondering if this fool robot really thought one mere missile could oh yeah okay that many might do it.
A half-dozen eager little missiles had tracked his movement through the air and had decided that he was a much sexier target than any of the other, squishier, targets in the room. He brought out his wings and wrapped them around him a second to late as six explosions sounded off in succession.
Semyaza stumbled slowly out of the smoke, skin scorched and partially melted from the heat, and managed to slur out "Tha' all ya' ghot?" As if to answer his question he was bowled over by a sudden torrent of water.
General Semyaza would one day learn that there exists inappropriate times to gloat.
But this is not that day.
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