Kho

Mid/High Casual - Divinus: The Deity Roleplay (Rebooted)

Hmm, exciting things happened while I was gone?! What a surprise *note sarcasm -_-*

Mid/High Casual - Divinus: The Deity Roleplay (Rebooted)

@Lugubrious For those two posts, you receive 8 Khookies.

Mid/High Casual - Divinus: The Deity Roleplay (Rebooted)

@Blackmist16 Yup, do add that to your sheet. As for posting, feel free to post any time. If you want to collab with anyone, just PM them. Remember to follow the three simple rules we have.

Mid/High Casual - Divinus: The Deity Roleplay (Rebooted)

Vowzra, Level 5 God of Time
14 Might 4 Free Points
&
Battle Brother Zerabil, Son of the Celestial Above, Champion of Chaos
Level 23 Hero, 27 Khookies

Summary

• Vestec corrupts Zerabil
• Zerabil flies off to the Mountain's Crown
• Vowzra creates Zera the Ram of Time
• The Seers of the Silent Six tell Rejys of Zerabil's condition
• Zerabil marches an army north, and the Confederates join him
• The army is made up of 1600 fighters and 800 camp followers
• The army camps to plan its advance before the forest Ialu first passed through, beyond which is the Strong Tribes' town and vassal villages

Eyes closed and soul far away, Zerabil sat upon the hill. As months had passed his soul had grown in strength until it could traverse those spaces it had before. It could traverse the spaces beyond, and see clearly the paths of Time. He may have lost his abilities - his Father was wise and knew well what he did - but he had certainly not lost his faith. If anything, like his soul, his faith was stronger today than it had ever been, for he knew that his Father watched over him, and the gods would not abandon him. Even the ones who had thus far ignored him. Should he not be a grateful slave?

As if on cue, a presence made itself known before him and the old man's eyes slowly opened. Before him was the unmistakable form of the Chaotic One. Though he did not move from his position, Zerabil allowed his head to fall slightly in respect, and he lowered his gaze in reverence. This was a god after all.

'The mighty Zerabil, defender of humans. Your god has abandoned you. You're nothing more than a weak old man. Why, I wonder? You haven't failed. The dragon God's sudden awakening and return was no fault of yours. Truth be told I suspect none of the Gods expected the Dragon God to awaken. Nonetheless, Vowzra seems to blame you for that. You've been cast aside like a piece of trash, Vowzra claiming Fate has forced his hand,' the god spoke and Zerabil listened with care. These had been his very fears and thoughts not so long ago, but he had long made his peace with himself and his Father. The Chaotic One's words did, however, gladden him. He was most grateful for the reminder of where he was and how far he had come since. For that reminder, he was grateful to the god of Chaos.

Giggling, the Chaotic One reached out and gently touched Zerabil's head. The old man allowed himself to lean against the open palm of the god, letting out a small breath. A god was touching him.
'Fate. Fate is what he uses to excuse everything. He'll even use it to explain what happens next, forgotten Zerabil. Not all the Gods have abandoned you,' with that, Zerabil felt his bones creak and his skin tighten against his face, he felt power flood his muscles and flesh and the magical ability he had lost all those months ago return. However, his soul felt a most frightening pressure, as if it was being pulled in two, and once the pressure was over, there was an overwhelming presence within him that had not been there before. He attempted to fight it off, his soul was a strong soul after all, but no matter what he did he could not. It tightened around him and he could feel himself lose control of his body.

'Go find your Victors. Lead them once more. They still obey all Godly commands right? I have a mission for them,' then Zerabil heard, within his mind, the voice of the Chaotic One, 'Victors! Hallowed Hundred! I have decided to deliver mercy unto the world of mortals once more...for a price. In the far north there is an Empire, Garakai. It's chieftain has revoked the Gods, insulting them and claiming a false god, his 'Mighty One', as the true ruler. You will gather your forces, and any willing to fight with you, to wipe him and his ilk from the face of the earth. For the duration of your campaign, The monsters of your nightmares will not return in the night. I will ensure the Cimex do not strike while you are gone. Go, and let Zerabil guide you.'
He turned back to Zerabil and spoke, 'do not waste my gift, Zerabil. After you've laid waste to the North, I expect to see a slaughter the Cimex will never recover from,' and with that, he disappeared just as quickly as he had come.

Silently, the young Zerabil stood up and began walking down the hill with purpose. He took a few more steps before leaping upwards and taking flight. Below him on the hill, the walking stick remained. As Zerabil disappeared into the distance, a wooden hand ripped through the fabric of existence and reached for the stick, pulling it in.

Up high above Galbar's atmosphere, Vowzra stepped out from that same fabric and looked before him silently. The stick was no longer in his wooden hand. However, his chest was agape and within it was a large orb. The wood of the god's chest tightened around it and heat flooded through orb and god alike.
'With the dormant power which lies in mind and heart,
I call upon that which does split all apart,' his mighty voice rumbled, defying the laws of nature and traveling through the void of space. The orb melted within him, becoming nothing but a vapour and floating before him.
'I call on the mighty one who lets Time flow,
I order it to come from skies above and ground below,' the vapour stretched tall and sank low, obscuring the moon from all who stood upon Galbar. It rippled with different colours. Purple lightening and lilac vapours, a seeping crimson twirled on the surface of the vapour, and an orange hue radiated from it.
'From your slumber you must wake,
Heir to a power you must take,
Come here guardian, spirit fine,
Who built up mountains line on line,
Come to your master who calls on you now,
Come with respect and humbleness bow!
Steed of Space and Time divine,
Your rider calls for you to shine,
For you to show your graceful face,
To this new and humble human race!'

With that, power filled the vapour and it constricted very suddenly into a small shape, and before Vowzra's eyes an ethereal creature took form. The creature emanated power and might, it was a glorious creature indeed. Just as he had wished.
'You are Zera,' came his rumbling voice, 'the Ram of Time,' and at his words, the ethereal creature solidified into the shape of a ram. It bowed to Vowzra in respect before kicking at the non-existent ground below its feet and bolting off, its speed causing the very fabric of existence to ripple around it. That was Vowzra's steed, the divine Zera, the Ram of Time.

Zerabil had paused and looked up coldly as the strange nebula-like vapour materialised in the sky before shrinking and disappearing altogether. He did not think too much about it, however, for he had other more important matters to attend to. He landed on the rampart of the Mountain's Crown, and below he could see the Victors readying themselves for battle. He had been spotted approaching the monastery and Rejys was there to meet him, flanked by the Seers of the Silent Six.
'Battle Brother,' Rejys said, his monotone voice not giving a hint towards what he felt. At his sides, the Seers of the Silent Six looked blankly towards Zerabil, and one of them whispered something to Rejys. Ignoring them, Zerabil looked below at the Victors.

'You have heard the commands of the Chaotic One!' he roared, 'we shall march upon the heathens and we shall bring them down! For the glory of Chaos!' his exclamations were met with silence, until he quickly added, 'and the safety of Man...because the night will be gone...'
With this, cheers rose up and the Victors below continued their preparations. Former-citizens were also arming themselves and preparing to join the Victors in their campaign against the northerners. If it meant the end of the darkness and the nightmares, then it was necessary that all contribute to the war effort.

'That is not Battle Brother Zerabil,' Hikat whispered to Rejys, who had turned towards the Outsiders.
'What do you mean, Silent Brother Hikat?' Rejys asked - was that not Zerabil? Certainly he had grown younger, but there was no mistaking him.
'That creature may have the body of our Battle Brother, but within it is a great darkness and corruption. Our Battle Brother fights within, but the spirit of the Execrable Chaos has entered him, and it is that which we see before us now,' Vyngis whispered. Alfid looked towards Zerabil before turning back to Rejys.
'Yes, within that body are now two souls. One is undoubtedly our Battle Brother, consumed by the more powerful soul of a slave of the Execrable One,' Rejys was silent at this, deep in thought. At last, he spoke.
'We will deal with that later, for now it is our duty to do as the Chaotic One has requested. We must bring the night to an end, even if it comes at the cost of bringing down the northern kingdom,' the Seers of the Silent Six looked from one to another before bowing their heads in obedience.
'We do as commanded, Battle Brother Rejys,' they said in synchrony.

It was not long before the five hundred Victors were marching out of the Mountain's Crown, accompanied by seven hundred volunteers from the citizenry, four hundred of whom were armed fighters while three hundred carried supplied, cooked and did various other jobs necessary for an army on the march. As they journeyed north, they passed by the Confederate tribes. After some discussions, and learning of the Chaotic One's offer, the tribes joined Zerabil and the march continued.

The army totaled sixteen hundred fighters, nine hundred tribal warriors having joined, with camp followers coming at eight hundred, five hundred tribals having joined. It was quite the fearsome army, Zerabil had to admit, and they were all his to command...

'Battle Brother Zerabil, we have been on the march for two weeks now, we should enter northern territory once we cross this forest. Our scouts tell us of the Strong Tribe's village and some vassals being beyond the forest, and then further north is a large, well-fortified settlement,' it was one of the many Brother's of the Vowzra's Victors who had brought the report. Riding his horse, Zerabil merely nodded.
'We will make camp here and plan our advance carefully,' he told the man, who nodded and turned to deliver the orders before Zerabil spoke up again.
'Oh, and Brother...' he said, at which the Victor turned around and waited, 'please, call me Thulemiz,' a small, rather deranged smile appeared on Zerabil's face as he said the name, and with that, he rode off into the forest all on his own.

Might

4 Might to Create Zera the Ram of Time
1 Might to Create the Seers of the Silent Six

Mid/High Casual - Divinus: The Deity Roleplay (Rebooted)

@Blackmist16 No, I meant that he is a son of Vowzra, the god of Time, and a human woman. So he is a Human Demigod (as in, half human, half god, meaning he is a demigod)

Mid/High Casual - Divinus: The Deity Roleplay (Rebooted)

@Blackmist16 Your character is accepted. He can be a child of Vowzra and a human.

Mid/High Casual - Divinus: The Deity Roleplay (Rebooted)

Working away on one. As I say, very busy so can't guarantee when it'll be up. Managed to get a post up for two RPs, so this one is next xP but I am feeling slightly ill and uninspired, so might just wait until I can come out with something that's actually good xD

Morituri te Salutant: Arkreidian Gladiators

Their trek through the maze-like passageways of the arena continued for a while, the strange white rock of the passages passing them by. Every now and then they came to a passageway with a rather low ceiling and the great Treemind had to bend down slightly in order to get through. The walk came to an end, however, when one of those many passageways finally opened up into a wider hall of sorts, lit with torches across the walls. The moans and cries of the injured and the dying, as well as the putrid smell, had reached Garagogarag long before the passageway had opened up, and the disgust and nausea which had grown in him before now reached a peak.
Looking around, he saw the blood everywhere and the screams seemed suddenly distant, the smell overwhelming his senses and his sight blurring.

Hey, what's going on? Are you ok? The child's clearly fearful thoughts penetrated the veil of nausea which had overcome his senses. It seemed their link made it so they could even share extreme emotions, for the child's fear pervaded the Treemind's thoughts. It did not help and so he quickly expelled the emotion. Thinking he had gotten better, Garagogarag looked around, only to notice that his feet were suddenly unable to carry him. He was forced to squat and put his hands on the ground for a few seconds in order to regain his composure. The tattoos all over his body were flashing different shades of green and moving around frantically. Shaking his head and steeling himself against the almost evil aura of the place, Garagogarag stood back up, just in time to see a screaming orc on a stretcher being rushed past. He had a length of shattered metal in his chest and blood flowed profusely from the wound. Then a bloodied she-elf fell from the roof and people were talking and the shouts were getting louder and louder and above, the cheers were squeezing in on Garagogarag. Bracing himself and containing a roar of desperation, he walked after his group who were walking off to a little alcove.
The shouts and smell did not depart as Garagogarag joined the group last of all, and he still felt on edge. He wanted to rip and tear, to force all this blood and noise and all these smells to tremble in fear and simply stop.

Where he now stood with his group, shelves and racks of varying weapons and armors lined the walls. The Orc who had been caned the day before was removing the chains from the others. When he came to Garagogarag he looked over the huge bear's arms, searching his furry forearms for the chains. Realising there were none there, he looked up at the bear and Gar looked back. Under normal circumstances, Gar would have offered a pleasant nod or explained that there were no chains big enough for him, but these were not normal circumstances and he did not feel very friendly at all. Instead, he bared back his lips and let out an angry little growl. The small Orc took this as a sign and quickly turned away and took out his anger at being humiliated at one the group. It was the elf, in fact, who appeared to be reaching for something on the racks. The Orc leapt upon him and dragged him back roughly.

'Don't touch the weapons,' he growled. A small squabble ensued, and Gar gathered that weapons would not be permitted in their upcoming fight. The Orc gathered up the chains and left the alcove, shooting Gar a look of hatred, through there was a healthy sprinkle of fear in there too.
You'll have to watch yourself around that one, came the child's thoughts. The fear had not left him, and Gar could not help the feeling that it was afraid of him. He made no reply.

A familiar tapping on the ground of the hall let Gar know that the Tree-Leg was here. The elf - who had introduced himself as Eltharion - confronted him.
'What is the meaning of this, Lanista? I thought you wanted us to fight, not die like newborn lambs.'
The Tree-Leg simply grinned. He certainly did not seem all that intimidated by the elf, though Gar imagined that had he been as small, old and weak as the Tree-Leg, he would have been a tad cautious.
'Ye'll be goin' into the arena unarmed aye, but your opponents...oh they'll be equipped with some weapons alright.'
This was followed by a brief bout of arguing in which the Tree-Leg made his position clear. They would not be armed. With that, he left.
'Well, any bright ideas?' came Eltharion's voice. There was a brief moment of silence before the Orc - Kamnar was his name - made a response.

'If it means survival, then the rules don’t mean anything to me. I suggest we each sneak in a small weapon as best as we can,' the Orc looked behind him, as if making surer that there were no unwanted listeners. With that, he moved towards the racks and picked up a small dagger. Gar considered all this. It certainly did not appeal to him this whole business of sneaking weapons in. The Tree-Leg had said there would be weapons in the pit. And he felt it was far too convenient for them to just be left inside not their own. Was this some kind of test of their abilities? Gar did not know, but he already had an idea for a battle plan. If they had to work as a team, then that was the greatest weapon of all.

'We work together,' he said, his emotions slowly calming as he contained the aura of the place. He would not let it get to him.
'Our teamwork. That is the greatest weapon,' with that, he stepped forward and surveyed the others, before pointing at Eltharion and the she-elf (who still had the Tree-Clinger hanging onto her), 'you two. You look fast. Nimble. When we get in. You gather weapons. Quickly,' he then pointed at Kamnar and the Thunderhoof.
'You two. You are strong. You protect everyone until weapons arrive,' he thought for a bit, 'maybe, if there is a wall. Keep against it,' he then considered everyone else. There was the sickly Skytalon, the little-man and his frightened boy, the small-woman, the Tree-Clinger and the child on his shoulder.
'I do not know you strengths,' he said to them, 'if you think you are fast. Join the elves. If you think you are strong. Join these two,' with that he backed away and said one last thing, 'but me. I will distract the others ones. I am big, my fur is strong. I will attack, draw them to me. Give you all time to be ready.' with his plan out in the open, he looked around to see what the others thought. Would they agree? Perhaps someone had a better plan. Perhaps they would reject him completely.

Marches of Man: the Black Shields. [ALWAYS OPEN]

@CorinTraven No worries xP you already mentioned her escort's name in your post and I've already posted Horath doing his thing xD perhaps we can do something in the next posts haha
(Stupid me, should've sent some kind of reminder ^^')

Marches of Man: the Black Shields. [ALWAYS OPEN]

Horath Evren Al'Montsar

'Come, I know you are tired, but this is the way.'

Night had fallen and the feast had begun. Horath sat on his knees in the small shrine, all on his own. He had thought it very strange that no orders had reached him regarding this night. At the very least, he would have thought, the Black Shields should have been patrolling the city to ensure that no suspicious things happened. But nothing had reached him, and so he had come to the assumption that he would be off-duty tonight. What better way to spend the early evening than in silent contemplation, at the mercy of the divine?

His eyes closed, he listened to his heartbeat. Over the years, he had grown used to sitting there listening to his heartbeat. It reminded him of his mortality and human frailty.
Da dum da dum da dum
He could not help but wonder how amazing it was that this thing within his chest beat like this from the moment he first took breath to the very last, never stopping, so ordered.
Da dum da dum da dum
Every single heartbeat was written somewhere in a book with his Lord. He knew how many there would be, and no matter how much Horath prayed or how he lived, he would not have a single heartbeat less or more. Nor could any other living being, the mare he rode, his fellow Black Shields, the greatest of kings had only so many heartbeats, and the lowliest of peasants.
Da dum da dum da dum
Yes, kings and peasants would die, the peasant may have an unmarked grave and the king a great mausoleum, but all would lie in the same earth. The same worms would eat on their flesh, and when both become nothing but dust, no one would know the difference between the earth which was once a king and that which was once a peasant. Then on the glorious day, when all stand before the Lord, the king and the peasant would be judged equally. The king's status will not save him from the torment if he had done wrong, nor would the peasant's status deny him bliss if he had done right by the Lord.
Da dum da dum da dum

Reaching around his neck, Horath pulled on a small leather string. From beneath his tunic came a well-carved flute. He opened his eyes and looked at it, his eyes foggy and distant. A name was carved into the flute in delicate handwriting, and he brought it to his lips and kissed the markings. There would come a day, or perhaps it would be a night not much unlike this one, when he would have his vengeance, and the Lord would have the souls of those scheming, plotting sinners. There was a great corruption upon the land. Its seeds may be small, but all great trees were once small seeds, were they not? He would uproot them before they grew too strong.

Moving the tip of the flute to his lips, he began playing a gentle tune. It was not at all melancholy, unlike the sudden turn of his emotions. The tune was rather calm, soothing. It was as though he wished to quench the fires of his anger and sadness with the cool waters of the melody. As he played and the minutes passed, the tune grew steadily louder, and Horath did not hear the footsteps which approached until they had turned into the shrine and stopped. He did not look up however, nor did he stop playing.

'By the Monarch's teeny balls, man! What in 'is name are you doin' 'ere!' the deep voice rumbled. Shocked - partly by the sudden disturbance to the peaceful night and partly due to the crude choice of language - Horath stopped playing and looked up, allowing the flute to fall against his leather breastplate.

'This is a holy place,' Horath said coldly, 'show some respect.'
The man, carrying a black heater shield and dressed in the signature helmet of the Black Shields, took a few steps forward. Horath allowed himself to consider the attire for a few seconds. The shield was certainly to be expected - they could not be the Black Shields if they did not have black shields now, could they? But the helmet was certainly something else. It took on the shape of a kettle helmet on the head, but unlike normal kettle helmets, it then had a large nasal guard which covered the eyes and nose, leaving small slits for the eyes. Sewn into the metal of the helmet was a chain mail aventail which left nothing exposed but the mouth area. This particular Black Shield wore an accompanying metal cuirass and greaves, beneath which was a chain mail hauberk. On his forearms and hands he wore leather gauntlets and at his side was a sheathed a longsword. Overall, he was prepared for the furies of battle.

Horath's own attire paled in comparison, with nothing but his leather breast plate and leather gauntlets. He had left his Black Shield attire and full-plate in the shared dorms by the few blankets he could call a bunk.
'Yeah, I know it's a holy place, smartass, but this ain't the time to be sittin' around here being all moosical, we're on duty. And you're sleepin' on the job!' he stopped a few metres from Horath and pointed at him as though he had just caught him sniffing a rat, 'get your armour on and come with me. The Commander gave me the task of makin' sure that lazy 'uns like you don'y get away with it. C'mon, c'mon,' he signaled for Horath to get walking. Having been unaware of any such duties tonight, Horath got up reluctantly, not wishing for what he thought to be an evening off to be so quickly brought to an end.

The patrolling Black Shield followed him to the dorms, and when Horath was in his gear, he told him to stick with him and give a shout if he spotted any suspicious types - or any men sleeping on the job. Clanking about in the dark alleys and streets and making the amount of racket they were, Horath was pretty sure that any suspicious types would hear them coming for miles, and any sleeping on the job would quickly wake up and look sharp before being spotted.

They had not been walking around for more than ten minutes when his partner suddenly stopped and let out a small whistle.
'Would'ja look at that, lad,' he whispered. Horath looked at him and then in the direction he was staring. It took him a while to make out the form of what must have been a woman standing around in one of the side alleys. Noticing a potential customer, she sauntered out, allowing for both men to get a better look.
'You open for business hon?' the patrolman asked, taking a few steps towards her.
'If ye've got the means, then anythin' for yer...hon,' at her words the man let off a snicker and turned back to Horath.
'Think I'll leave the rest to you mate, make sure you don't let no one of those lazy 'uns sleep on the job, eh?' and with that he turned away and followed his lady's swaying hips.

Horath allowed himself a few moments to wonder at the irony of those last words before letting out a small sigh and continuing the patrol. He had been in the capital a good few times. Certainly not well enough to know all those dodgy alleys and routes, but he knew his way around the main streets and the outskirts, and that was good enough to carry out the duties left to him by the man, who was now certainly having himself a nice time between the thighs of that wench.

'Everything good here, men?' he asked a few men standing around on the eastern rim of the town. At his voice, they stood up straight and looked around.
'Uh, yeah, everything good here...' one of them responded, 'uh, sir,' he quickly added. Horath allowed himself a small smile before telling them to rest easy, he was just another Black Shield after all. They shared a few jokes, grumbled something about 'that bloody feast and those bloody blue bloods up there', before he left them to their duties and continued on. It seemed like it was going to be a quiet night, though if Horath had learnt anything from his years of traveling with the Servants, it was that quiet nights usually turned out to be the least quiet of all. May the Monarch have mercy on them all.