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24 years old. British/Scottish. Bachelor of Arts (Honours) in Fighty Studies. Studying MA in Second World War Studies. Wargamer. Submariner in another life.

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Angora Serah Kelenwyn


Human (Inhabited by a fragment of the mortal soul of Kreshtaat, Lord of Darkness)



Angora stands somewhat taller than the average human female, at about five feet and nine inches; her frame is lithe, agile and well-suited for hunting through dense forests or dark alleyways and ambushing her targets. She has a decent level of musculature, but not bulky - perhaps the best terminology would be 'athletic', with a relatively well-proportioned chest area: estimates as to her weight would place it at around 160-170 pounds. Her skin is pale, with few markings or freckles; her raven-black hair falls roughly about to her upper back, rarely seen fettered by ties or knots, whilst her eyes are a shade of emerald green, with heavy lids and an odd blackening around the edges of the eye (possibly a physical effect from the fragment of Kreshtaat). Her nose is sharp yet rounded, and her mouth is medium-sized, her lips relatively plump and a pleasant shade of red, usually accentuated with lipstick. Her teeth are straight and in good condition, being mostly straight and fairly white, with a slight overbite of the front teeth. Overall, Angora would be considered rather pleasant to look at.

Angora has changed quite dramatically over the last six months. From her old self, to the melding, to the restoration of her mind, Angora has had to endure quite a bit, but for the moment, it seems that she is free of the fragment's influence over her. As a result, Angora's personality is one that can best be described as determined, yet optimistic. Despite, some would argue, her criminal background, Angora is dependable and loyal to her friends, and truthfully her time away from her life of crime has allowed her to re-assess her priorities, and she is determined to at least try and lead a life of legality and decency. Angora is a lively and outgoing woman who is able to read a situation and act accordingly - she is able to both turn on the charm (with a flutter of the lashes, no doubt) and also turn up the heat, depending on what the current matter requires. However, the fragment's presence still makes itself known - Angora can be quick to anger, and quicker still to draw her sword in defence of her friends, and she is prone to entering a semi-berserk state in combat.

Angora Kelenwyn was born to a middle-income family in the better areas of Zerul City's suburbia - her father, a smith working with rare and mysterious metals, including gold, silver and other precious metals; whilst her mother, a courtesan amongst the city's lower elite classes, as well as a part-time thief and filcher of items from those who contracted her services, intending to sell them into the black markets. Angora had three siblings - two older and a younger, all brothers - her elder brothers Yvann and Reikard were more akin to their father and martially-inclined; Yvann held aspirations to join the City Guard, whilst Reikard sought to join the ranks of the Duchy of Zerul's sergeants-at-arms. Karl, the youngest of the four children, was an accident. Angora's mother fell pregnant after visiting one of the city's nobility, and gave birth to a bastard child - the nobleman acknowledged the son and occasionally visited, before recommending that Karl join the Zerulic Academy of Magic.

Angora, however, took more after her mother, both in looks and in her skillset - from an early age she displayed a talent for stealing items (though she often landed herself in trouble) and she sparred with her older brothers, though both of them were far more delicate swordsmen than the young Angora, who tended to wield a sword "as if she had little regard for her own safety" according to Reikard. Angora's true skill was with a flutter of the lashes, and with a knife behind her back. This led Angora down the path of the seductress assassin, and as she grew up, Angora delved into the world of organised crime. Prices were placed every so often on members of society, and it was doing this that Angora honed her skills of ambush attacks - she would often scope the area that she was due to kill the target in before the time came, and would hide in nearby alleyways or darkened streets, walk out behind the target and plunge her blade through their back and into their vital organs, sometimes through the spine. Then, she would take them down to the dockyards and dump the body in the sea. The victim would be sometimes still be found dead, but nobody would be any the wiser, the death blamed on the gang violence inherent in such poor and deprived areas.

Angora's jobs eventually started taking her outside the city, and one day she was assigned a very important task - a group of penin had unearthed a most rare and unusual artifact - the Black Sword of Klorr, an ancient and failed experiment by the demigod which was designed to tap directly into the Spirit Realm for magical energy, instead of relying on material sources of magical power. However, unbeknown to all except Klorr himself, the Black Sword was also inhabited by something... a fragment of the mortal soul of the Lord of Darkness himself, the dreaded Kreshtaat. The fragment's presence in the sword generated a strange aura about the weapon that drove those nearby to desire to possess the weapon, to kill and maim and burn. This aura eventually led to the downfall of the penin transporting the Black Sword, as they began to bicker and desire the sword for themselves, leaving the convoy open to Angora's ambush. It was over in only a couple of minutes, the penin having been hacked to death in the middle of the night one by one, and then Angora could claim her prize; the Black Sword.

However, Angora would never make it back to Zerul City. Over the next week, Angora's personality began to shift and warp, as if the outsider within the Black Sword was attempting to move into her own consciousness. Fighting back against the fragment, Angora inadvertently set off a strange magical chain reaction that instead of pushing the outsider out of her consciousness, began to merge Angora and the outsider together in a strange hybrid of the two of them. Thus, the Untamed was born. Angora's memories of her old life faded away into a grey shroud, the names of her parents and her brothers little more than words that she remembered but didn't know the significance of, whilst her view on the world altered and changed radically - no more could she recognise the different factions within Rodoria, be they the Crusaders, or local farmers or townsfolk. No, instead they were all threats to the Untamed, threats that had to be dealt with. Though her memories of her old life had been destroyed in the merging, Angora still knew how to ambush, how to hunt and track, and how to kill. She took the Black Sword as her own - it became almost part of her, and magic flowed through the sword from the Spirit Realm, just as Klorr had initially intended for it to. Over the next few months, Angora's attacks on travellers within the woods slowly grew in knowledge. The method of assault was almost always the same - the travellers would be ambushed and killed at night, whilst they were unable to defend themselves meaningfully in the face of the bloodthirsty frenzy of Angora, before their corpses were stripped of any valuable items and clothes, and their flesh would be hacked from their corpses - likely to be used as meat in the various fire-pits that were found next to the bloodied skeletons that served as the grisly remains of the Untamed's victims. Even the Crusader's Guild weren't safe from Angora - a couple of Crusader patrols were also ambushed and killed by Angora in her murderous frenzy, slashed into pieces by the Black Sword of Klorr. After some six or seven months, Angora finally came upon a fight she could not win, when she attacked the group, then led by Aemoten. After a brief, brutal and almost fatal engagement, Angora was subdued, but instead of finishing her off, the Eireannach Iridiel Caomhanach, favoured of Sulis, intervened to subdue the influence of the fragment of Kreshtaat within her. Following this, Angora has joined the group in their quest for an answer to the Withering. Angora swore a blood oath to help in this in whatever way she can - perhaps to soothe her guilty conscience for her (albeit unwitting) part in her crimes as the Untamed, but also to repay the group for saving her from a much more grisly and bloody fate than she might otherwise have suffered. As a result, she has accompanied the group to Zerul City, but the fragment within her begins to stir once more...

Physical Skills:
Angora's physical strength and stamina is undeniable. Though she lacks the raw muscle of, say, a penin or a lohk, Angora's frenzied bloodlust allows her to keep fighting even when others might have run out of energy or been subdued by the enemy. Her adrenaline-fuelled fury also renders her virtually immune to pain until the end of the fight, or perhaps even afterwards - Angora acts similar to a berserker in this regard. She is a fearsome warrior to face down, especially with the Black Sword of Klorr at her side; though less skilled with a blade than, say, Jaelnec or Aemoten, Angora instead relies on her ferocity and brutality to overcome her enemies. Angora also has a puzzling talent following the melding with the fragment - her voice has taken on a strange, ethereal tonality to it, and this can be utilised as a weapon itself, for Angora is also a capable ambusher, skilled at concealing herself within cover, be it a dark alleyway, a line of trees with undergrowth and bushes, or simply blending into the background as best she can. Angora most often is able to get the drop on whoever it is she is hunting, something that definitely works to her advantage when it comes to her fighting style, as enemies often are unable to react in time to Angora's attacks: with fatal consequences.


The Black Sword of Klorr / Dreamcatcher:

The Black Sword of Klorr, also known as Dreamcatcher by its creator, is a very powerful sword constructed from obsidite that Angora stole from the penin who were attempting to conceal the weapon from all mortal eyes. The sword is a (originally-failed) experiment from the legendary craftsman Klorr, meant to siphon infinite quantities of magical energy from the Spirit Realm without the infusion of a soul. The sword, which had absorbed a small portion of the mortal energy of none other than Kreshtaat, mightiest of all immortals, was discarded by Klorr into the material plane as a failure, whereupon it was discovered by the penin, and was on it's way to the academy when Angora attacked. As Angora kept the sword with her, the fragment of Kreshtaat gradually melded itself with her, but consequently turned into something not quite one or the other; Angora seemingly went insane, and lost both her memory and her mind, devolving into a crazed, animalistic butcher solely devoted to bloodshed and destruction, all due to the fragment of Kreshtaat's influence. The process cleansed the sword of the fragment, however, and as a result it now acts as a conduit between the magical power of the Spirit Realm and the material plane. Though the Black Sword lacks any inherent magical enchantments (currently), it is still a very powerful (and consequently desirable) item. Admittedly, to get it, you have to get through Angora first, a feat much easier said than done.

Angora's Knife:
Since her return to Zerul City, Angora has been able to purchase new equipment and clothes for the first time in months. One of these purchases was a silvered-steel stiletto knife, with an eight-inch triangular blade, specifically designed for thrusting through thick cloth, padded armour and even finding its way through mail or the gaps in a knight's helmet. The knife as a whole measures some 15 inches, including the handle, and features a plain crossguard. This can usually be found on Angora's left side, attached to a leather belt.

“Angora?” Jaelnec's voice called out from the other side of the door, a hint of panicked uncertainty and urgency in his voice. The door trembled slightly, betraying that he was still holding its handle, ready to throw it open if he detected the need to do so.
More footfalls approached outside, more audible now that the door was partway open, though Angora was still mid-vomiting. These feet also sounded naked.
“You!” the voice of another young male exclaimed, which Angora might or might not, given their relatively brief acquaintance with one another, recognize as the voice of Thomas Remdal. “What in the planes did you do?”
“Me? I heard the scream and came running! I'm not –”
“You're naked and armed outside a girl's bedroom!”
“I thought she was in danger! I wasn't going to... wait, what in Stupor are you wearing?”
“Never mind that! The girl...”
“Yes!” The door opened another half an inch as Jaelnec seemingly refocused his attention on what he had been doing. “Angora? What happened?”

“Like a knight to the damsel’s rescue…” Angora murmured under her breath as she climbed unsteadily out of the chair, the duvet still wrapped about her body. The adrenaline in her system had been almost spent, but still her movements were slow, deliberate, meticulous - in an attempt to remain calm after the ordeal she had just been through. It was a brief moment before Angora realised that, for at least the sake of allaying Jaelnec’s immediate concern, she should probably reply.

“Yes, it’s me. I, euh... I don’t know what happened.” She walked over to the door, and poked her head into the gap- Oh my me, that was unexpected… “Do you… want to throw a robe on, Jaelnec?”

Fortunately for Jaelnec Angora decided to speak up as she approached the door, allowing him a moment to realize that she was coming and cover the most private part of his anatomy just before she looked out. The irony was not lost on him that he was covering up his privates with a sword in his hand, practically replacing the visual of one with the other, but in the moment he was far from entertained.
Jaelnec looked back at her with eyes wide and face flushed with embarrassment.
Behind Jaelnec, Angora would see Thomas in what appeared to be a white knee-length cotton nightgown, complete with little frills along the neckline and at the hem of its sleeves. In his right hand Thomas carried his obscenely big runesword, its crystal handle filled with blue light as his magical energy coursed through it.

“Uh…” Jaelnec started, at a loss for words in the moment. “I… thought it sounded urgent…” He faltered, starting to slowly inch his way around - careful to keep facing the doorway - in an effort to navigate his way back to his room.

Angora’s own cheeks began to burn red as she hastily averted her gaze. “Well, uh, I mean, that depends on the definition of urgent. I’m not in danger, at least… I think - I hope. I don’t think I’m on the verge of imminent death, so we should be able to wait for you to get something on.” Angora blinked several times, a slight smile onto her face as she watched Jaelnec awkwardly stumble back towards his own room out of the corner of her eye. She shifted her attention to the other man… ah, what was his name… Thomas, that was it! Thomas Remdal. She waved sheepishly at him, making sure to keep one hand on the duvet preserving her modesty.

“Oh, uh, hello there… Sorry to, uh, awaken you, I, um… I had a nightmare. Well, I don’t know if it was a nightmare or a… vision, of sorts I suppose? I don’t know how else to describe it.”

Her head was still rather scatterbrained after the vision, whilst in her memory, she heard the voice’s haunting echoes still reverberating in her head. Angora backed away from the door, allowing the duvet to drop to the floor once she was out of sight, and she hastily grabbed a white robe from atop the dresser and donned it, wrapping the tie around her waist tightly, before heading over back to the door and opening it fully. Angora’s eyes fell onto the massive rune-emblazoned sword that Thomas was wielding, and she gave a reflexive nod in appreciation of it. It reminded her of the Black Sword in its manufacture somewhat - but she was also not entirely sure how he was wielding such a massive weapon with only one hand...

“That’s, uh, quite the weapon you have there, sir.”

The second Angora disappeared from the crack in the door, rapid footfalls betrayed the urgency with which Jaelnec fled the scene, returning to his room in a full sprint now that he had established that no one was in immediate danger.

“Uhm, thanks,” the sixteen-year-old Thomas responded awkwardly, slinging the huge sword up to rest on his shoulder with the blunt edge down in an overtly casual way. Unlike Jaelnec he watched Angora eagerly and unabashedly, and he made no effort to conceal himself. It seemed that the awkwardness was actually for the sword rather than their state of dress.
“It’s a pretty standard runesword, though. Kind of like cheating. I -”

“You’re being pretty loud for this time of night, you know?” called a voice from down the hallway, announcing Olan’s approach. The older nightwalker came walking towards them calmly, remarkably fully dressed aside from his robe. Aside from a little bit of bedhead, Olan looked as though he had not been sleeping at all.
He smiled softly at the two of them there, a humorous glint in his eye, before his expression turned serious and concerned. “Did I hear you mention a vision?”

Olan. Thank all the gods that he was here. Angora gave a sigh of relief as she watched him amble his way down from wherever he had made his own accommodation in the estate. If anyone would be able to explain what she had seen, it was him, surely? Perhaps he could determine whether it was just a nightmare, or whether it actually meant something more.

“I don’t know whether it was a vision or a nightmare, Olan. I was sleeping, and then I was transported to this… hellish landscape, it didn’t make any sense, there was no logic, no rhyme or reason... it looked like everything was all jumbled up in one place. I was… I was on a cliff. The sky above was all kinds of colours, green, red, black - and then I looked down into a huge valley, and saw these, these things, things I’ve never seen before and, gods willing, never in my waking life. But I wasn’t looking at those, not really - it was like my gaze was fixed on some… massive, uh… I think it was white, almost marble-like temple structure. It was on… It was on a mountain. The sky was black as night above it, and a huge battle of… gods only knows what… was swirling and coruscating below it, like a… like a sea frothing in some raging storm...”

Angora continued to describe the vision to Olan, trying her hardest to explain what she had seen, or witnessed perhaps is a better word, as best as she could, though the content of the vision was at times too confusing for her to paint a clear picture, particularly when she - or whatever she was witnessing - seemed to teleport from place to place. Having not experienced the dubious pleasure of teleportation for herself, Angora wasn’t really sure how to describe it, only that things just melted away before her eyes, and were swiftly replaced by a new vision. She stopped to draw breath before describing the serpentine incident. The horror of that vision was still fresh in her mind, and it proved difficult to vocalise how it looked, but she tried.

“There was a… serpent. A massive snake-thing, made of rock and bone and flesh, and whatever - whoever - I was watching, just obliterated it. It just… fucking exploded. Excuse my language.” She glanced at Thomas. “And… and then, I heard a voice.” Angora fell silent once again, visibly struggling to bring herself to speak.

I thought I made myself clear.” The voice was not Angora’s. Her heart skipped a beat, and she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to steady herself against a wall. A terrible feeling of revulsion and overwhelming surge of fear enveloped her. It was the voice from the dream. She pressed on, regardless, hoping that it was just her, that nobody else could hear it. “Nobody enters the oratory. Nobody but me.

She opened her eyes. It was not just her.

Both Olan and Thomas listened attentively as Angora described her experience, simply curiously at first but soon with gradually growing concern. Jaelnec also returned mid-description, now wearing his pants, at least, though his torso was still bare, and stared in confusion for a moment until realization dawned on him that she was retelling a nightmare.
By the time Angora recounted the words she had heard, in the voice they had been originally spoken, no less, every eye among the three widened in shock. Olan swallowed, seeming a little queasy, while Thomas turned pale as a corpse.

“Well, until that last bit I was going to say that it was probably just a really bad dream, you know?” Olan chuckled, though for once his laughter was strained and somewhat mirthless. “That’s a neat trick, changing your voice… though for some reason I feel like I know that voice…”
“Uh…” Thomas was still staring at her, his eyes wide with fear and wonder. “What -, no, you just said you don’t know, didn’t you…” He looked at Olan and Jalenec. “What in the planes is going on here?”
Jaelnec just shrugged, being genuinely clueless as well, but Olan saw fit to offer a little of what they knew. “All we know is that she’s got something inside her that’s not supposed to be there. Not alive or aware, but… something.”
“Yeah?” Thomas remarked, sounding more frantic for each passing second. “Well, I’d be pretty damned concerned! What she just described sounds an awful lot like how people describe Hell, that giant serpent can pretty much only be Akronos, who is a demon lord said to be unstoppable and indestructible! And this ‘oratory’...”
He shook his head balefully. “The only ‘oratory’ I know of in Hell is the Oratory of Fate, which is where the Oracle is supposed to live.”
Both Jaelnec and Olan swallowed, reflexively taking a step backwards as the realization of what Thomas was saying hit them.
“Yeah,” the human nodded, “that’s what I’m saying. Reina’s tits, girl, I think you were inside Kreshtaat.”

“Kreshtaat?” Angora also took a step back. “Wait… how would that even be possible unless…” She glanced first at Jaelnec, and then at Olan, and then back into her room, where the Black Sword was glowing once again, bathing Angora’s bedroom in an eerie shade of purple. She took a deep breath. “The thing in the sword- in me. You don’t think it’s… connected to him somehow?”

All three of the male participants of the conversation performed simultaneous shrugs. “I don’t know…” Olan muttered, looking at Angora intently. “But I don’t see any other explanation. I don’t know how or why, but it seems there is some sort of connection between the two.”
“Kreshtaat!” Jaelnec muttered bitterly, punching the air in powerless anger at the entire situation. Once again the irony of using that particular swear at this time was not lost on him. “Why can’t demons and evil gods just leave my friends alone?! Why does everything have to be so damn complicated? Argh…”
“Either way there’s nothing we can do about it right now,” Olan sighed, prompting a still somewhat perturbed Thomas to nod in agreement. “And whatever this is, I don’t think it’s immediately dangerous, you know? Now that you’re not attacking people, I mean. And I don’t think it’s intentional.”
“Shit,” Jaelnec grumbled, still grim but no longer as angry as he had been. “I guess you’re right. Well…” He looked around at the dark hallway to either side, taking in the silence for a moment before turning back to the others. “It’s still night. We should try to get some rest. Are you going to be alright by yourself, Angora?”

Angora went to respond, but hesitated for a moment. She wasn’t actually sure as to the answer to that question herself - would she be okay? She was hardly relishing the chance to go back to sleep, that was for sure - after all, what if she was subjected to another of Kreshtaat’s sojourns in the hells - but she also didn’t want to impose herself on anyone, robbing them of any further sleep. “I, um… I’m not sure. To be honest, my nerves are still a little shot from witnessing Kreshtaat go on his little rampage… would any of you mind if I stayed up with one of you? I hate to impose myself on one of you like this, but if it happens again, I’d rather have someone with me than have to go through it alone again…”

Thomas’ eyes instantly lit up, a wide smile spreading over his face, his eyes darting up and down Angora’s form. “I can -”
“Oh no, you don’t,” Jaelnec growled, shooting the boy an angry glare. “I’ll stay with her. I won’t allow anything to happen.”
“If I may, I don’t think either of you are really suited for keeping a distressed young woman comfortable and chaste company through the night,” Olan pointed out, a different, humorous glint in his eye. “Ideally we’d ask another woman, but last I saw she was looking pretty deep in her tankard, you know? You can stay with me, Angora… or I can stay with you, whichever you prefer. I barely sleep anyway. And if you can’t sleep, I have lots of stories to keep us entertained.”

Angora rolled her eyes in disgust, but resisted the urge to walk over and slap Thomas for his lechery. Instead, she focused her attention on Olan, and nodded to his suggestion. “You’re too kind, Olan, but thank you. I’m sure those stories of yours will help put this out of my mind.” For now, at least. And if… whatever it is… tries to take control of me again, at least Olan can talk to me, no matter what language he needs to speak in…
Angora's Nightmare written by @Dark Jack

Angora found herself standing on the precipice of a cliff, the jagged rock painful on her naked feet, with an alien landscape before her. The expanse below made no sense, with landscapes seemingly transitioning randomly between all kinds of nonsensical terrain, from frozen, ice-covered wasteland directly to rocky desert, to black depths of briny water and oceans of lazily churning lava, between which could be found lands of everything from broken glass to relatively normal naked rock, which mercifully seemed to form strangely organic pathways past many of the extreme types of terrain. Above the sky was a colossal mess of green, red and black... not clouds, necessarily, but as if this was the nature of the sky itself. These unnatural colours seemed to randomly shift and distort, only to occasionally extend downward in huge, horrifyingly destructive tornadoes that tore the land they passed asunder. Torrents fell from the sky in places, not of rain but of fire, and multicoloured lightning seemed to be constantly spreading its fingers one place or another, frequently crossing the divide between sky and ground to strike with the force to shatter rock.

Things were moving everywhere down there, countless creatures lurking and prowling the hellish landscape, and while some appeared somewhat normal – different creatures of Reniam scuttling about, all if which appeared to be nude – the vast majority were horrid monstrosities of all shapes and sizes. They moved, encountered each other and either immediately started fighting, running from or chasing each other. Even from this distance and past the thunder that only seemed to vary in intensity, but never truly pause, she could hear faint screams of fear and pain, and the roars and shrieks of nightmarish abominations.

Though she could see these things it was not what she was looking at, however. Her gaze fixated upon a spot far, far away, where what seemed to be a small mountain stood with what seemed like a majestic temple-like white structure at its peak, pristine and entirely out of place in the horrid landscape. She could see the place clearly, even from what seemed like a hundred miles away; make out every crack in the mountain, and the unnatural smoothness of the stone that made up the temple. She could count the steps that lead up the mountainside to the building, and make out individual flakes of ash that slowly fell upon it like snow.
Looking upon the temple filled her with fathomless sadness and regret.
The sky above this place, in contrast to everywhere else, was uniform black and entirely devoid of the chaotic, destructive forces that ran rampant everywhere else. Below, however, was an even greater chaos than could be found closer to her. A huge mass of monstrosities, an almost incomprehensible number of them, was clumped together at the base of the mountain in an unparalleled show of murder and violence. Countless were killed every second, only for their bodies to turn to black smoke, and yet countless more flowing to the place from the surrounding lands to join in the slaughter.
Angora felt a grim, seething hatred, anger and bitterness well up inside of her. The slender hands at her side clenched into fists.
Her vision focused yet again, this time on a humanoid-looking figure entirely covered red plate armour, fighting what could best be described as a shapeless black mass of rot, cloth and bones. She looked specifically at the black, rotten one, and felt the hatred grow.

Then, for a heartbeat, she was weightless; she could no longer feel her body, and her vision seemed to stretch and distort in a way that she struggled to relate to anything she had ever experienced before. Weight came back to her as she once again had a body, and suddenly she found that she was somewhere else entirely than she had been an instant ago. Same general composition of her surroundings, but different topology. The ground felt searing hot upon the soles of her feet and the air was blistering. Her eyes were still upon the mountain, however, only now from a different angle, seemingly the opposite side of the mountain. Looking to either side of the foot of the mountain she could still see the outskirts of the horde of creatures murdering each other, but this side of the mountain was, in stark contrast to the other, almost perfectly still and deserted. Almost.
A single figure occupied the area below the mountain on this side. Sitting hunched over on the ground was a tiny being, seemingly humanoid, huddled in a dirty grey hooded robe that seemed much too big for the creature wearing it. The long sleeves hang off its arms, concealing its hands, and the hood fell to hide its face. It could not be more than three feet tall at most, even smaller than a penin. It looked as if it was sleeping.
She looked at it, at the empty area around it and at the battle being fought just on the other side of the mountain, and felt uncomfortable, yet reassured. The sight of this diminutive shape disturbed her deeply.

She was weightless again, her vision warped, and she was back where she had been before, looking down at the battle once again. At the armoured man fighting the rotten black mass. The anger returned, even stronger than before. Then the ground below the battle seemed to give way, and what appeared to be an unbelievably gargantuan serpent made of stone burst forth, its size so immense and the force of its emergence so great that it sent boulders and creatures alike scattering high into the air, being thrown for miles unless they dissolved into black smoke before then.
Her eyes focused past the serpent ascending into the sky, and she watched the black bone-creature darting swiftly up the stairs toward the pristine temple at its peak. Rage gripped her, rapidly blossoming within with a scorching intensity. She just barely got to see the bone-creature reach the top of the stairs before she suddenly shifted, abruptly finding herself no longer far away, but very close; right next to the bone-creature, in fact.
She reached out a hand, feeble, deathly pale and marred with black veins, and jabbed a finger at the creature. She felt something inside her clench every so slightly, and the creature instantly disintegrated into nothing but dust. It felt effortless, as if obliterating this creature was as easy for her as to brush aside a strand of hair.
She paused, only to look up a moment later and see the serpent above her, plummeting toward her from the sky. It was so incredibly immense that its head alone was larger than the mountain she was standing on, with jet-black eyes and a mouth that could swallow entire townships, filled with sharp, jagged tooth-like rocks.
Looking at the serpent with annoyance, her rage somewhat abated, she raised her hand once more and wagged a finger admonishingly at the serpent. She clenched something inside her once more, and the entirety of its colossal head seemed to spontaneously detonate, shattering into chunks of rock, black flesh and blood.

She looked down upon the broken landscape, at all the monstrous creatures assembled before her, and felt nothing but disgust. Then a slow, smouldering anger. Resentment, deep and heartfelt. And past it all, a crushing, all-encompassing sorrow.
“I thought I made myself clear. No one enters the oratory,” she said, her voice not her own, but a booming male voice, strong and authoritative. She waved her hand, clenching once more – still in a way that caused her infinitely tiny strain – and watched the monstrosities below simultaneously dissolve into a mass of quickly dispersing black smoke.
She felt grim, regretful, as if a deep depression was setting in. “No one but me.”

Angora awoke from her nightmare with an ear-piercing scream at the top of her voice. The vision of the dying serpent was burned into her memory, and the voice... by the gods on high, the voice rang still in her head! It was though something had spoken to her very soul, to the core fibre of her being. Her heart pounded in her chest, her breaths were short and rapid, her head felt like a red hot nail was being driven through her skull, whilst her eyes stung from sweat dripping into them, its salty taste on her lips, and an overwhelming wave of nausea began to envelop every fibre of her being. As quickly as she could, Angora untangled herself from the bedsheets, soaked as they were with cold sweat, and tried to stand up, but her body refused to respond, adrenaline overriding any attempt for conscious thought or action. She crumpled into a heap on the floor, cursing loudly and repetitively, whilst frantically searching for something that could aid her in her time of need - a tin bathtub! Over by the window, near the table and chair... yes, the table and chair from last night. Angora scrabbled on her bare hands and knees across the room's wooden floor and threw herself toward the tin vessel, just as the nausea reached her throat.

Gripping the tub's side tightly with her fists, Angora retched, and then vomited, the wine from the night before staining her emesis a shade of red that, if one were to glance at it hurriedly, one might think were blood. The acrid stench burned her nostrils, whilst its foul taste engulfed her tongue, and her throat burned from the acid's exposure. Angora barely had time to breathe before a fresh wave of biliousness overwhelmed her once more, and she retched again, tears now streaming from her eyes as she vomited again. She broke down into convulsions of coughing, her body wracked with involuntary shakes and tremors from the adrenaline coursing through her veins, her heart still pounding in her chest. After what seemed like an eternity, filled with hacking, choking and spitting what was left of the foul-tasting bile from her mouth, Angora was able to catch what remained of her breath. She sank back onto her haunches whilst she focused entirely on composing herself. She wiped at her eyes with her forearms, ignoring the sharp stinging of sweat, and looked over at the table. A half-full bottle of red stood on it - evidently a survivor of her drinking spree before she'd fallen asleep - and slowly, unsteadily, Angora rose to her feet, and staggered over to the table and its chair nearby. Taking the bottle in one hand, Angora steadied herself with the other as she took a long drink, washing away the awful taste of vomit on her breath and in her mouth, and calming her nerves somewhat.

What in the name... of all of the gods... is happening? What was that... vision?

No answer was forthcoming from within herself. The voice had faded from her head, and the pain had subsided into a dull throb in her temples, keeping rhythm with her gradually-slowing heartbeat. Angora became acutely aware of her own nakedness - particularly if someone were to come in at this moment - and got to her feet once again, dragging the duvet off of the bed to wrap around herself whilst she finished off the bottle of wine in the chair...
The Republic of Ireland

Forward, Sons of Ireland!/Ar Aghaidh, A mhic na hÉireann!

The Republic of Ireland / Poblacht na hÉireann


The history of the Irish is one stained with the blood of rebels, and the sacrifice of many of Ireland's best and brightest over the centuries of British rule. However, Ireland was nevertheless an integral part of the British metropole by 1900, and though resentment towards English rule had been building for years, it seemed that in 1914, Ireland would at last be free to decide its own course and its own fate, with the passing of the Home Rule Bill through the English Commons. Ireland would, after almost 800 years of English domination, be freed of the shackles of rule from London.

The Great War united Ireland like no other event before, or since. Politicians, both Unionist and Nationalist, supported the war effort, and exhorted their comrades to join the fight, to see matters through to the bitter end. Irishmen, both Catholic and Protestant, served extensively in the British forces, many in specially raised divisions, while others still served in the armies of the British dominions, as members of each Dominion's own contingent of troops. The Irish poet Francis Ledwidge's words echoed through the minds of many in the Emerald Isle:

"I joined the British Army because she stood between Ireland and an enemy common to our civilization, and I would not have her say that she defended us while we did nothing at home but pass resolutions".

The Irish fighters were feared all across the theatres of the Great War for their tenacity, their toughness and their willingness to hurl themselves into the thickest fighting with seemingly little regard for their own safety, and they made excellent shock troops. Yet the War began to grind. It began to stall, and stutter, and degenerate into a bloodbath of attritional warfare - a type of conflict that the Irish could ill-afford, with their population only recently having recovered somewhat from the catastrophes of the 1800s. Britain demanded much of the Irish in blood, and there was only so much that the sons of Éire could provide, before questions started to be asked. Could the British be trusted? Would Home Rule truly be delivered to Ireland as the Commons promised? Republicans within Ireland started fomenting dissent and discord amongst the population, and they began agitating for complete and total freedom from the Crown, and in Easter 1916, Republican elements within Dublin exploded in a rising against British rule, declaring Ireland independent from the 'tyrants of London'. Alas, for the Republicans, the British were quick to halt the rebellion. Those considered responsible by the British were tried and found guilty of inciting rebellion against the Crown. Initially, General John Maxwell sentenced the rebellion's leaders to death, and three were executed by firing squad in Kilmainham Gaol; Patrick Pearse, Thomas MacDonough and Thomas Clarke. However, protests by Irish political leaders (including the Unionist Sir Edward Carson and Irish Parliamentary leader John Redmond) convinced Maxwell and the president of the trials, Charles Blackader, to commute the rest of the sentences to life imprisonment without parole. Nevertheless, Ireland, and Irish opinion, was shaken, and divisions between Catholic and Protestant once again began to open up.

The war reaped a bloody toll on Ireland. By 1920, almost half a million Irishmen were in the armed forces, and of those, a third had either been killed or wounded in action. Sentiment amongst the Dominions was beginning to match that of Ireland and India - open revolt. The British government, in an attempt to placate the Dominions, promised that on the conclusion of the fighting, the Dominions would be released from bondage to the Crown under the so-called Statute of Westminster, but only if they could keep holding on in the war...

Yeah, this is it, I'm gonna have to drop. Yesterday I had a... minor inconvenience which will sideline me from RPing for a while.

Sorry folks, Jack, everyone.
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