Lugubrious — Roleplayer Guild

With every thought in a varying shades of panic and aggression, the dwarves of this ill-fated outpost had sensibly chosen to leave behind their civilian buildings and focus all their attention and might on their noble but futile defense.  This, Clotho thought, must have been the reason why she encountered nobody in the storehouse, even as she discovered objects of immense worth inside.  A central partition, floor to ceiling, divided the storehouse into two halves: a granary and an apothecary.  After determining with her acute senses there to be no enemy in proximity, Cloth sidled into the former section, reached down, and reached into a barrel.  Its squishy contents were tightly-packed, unmolested by air, and with plentiful salt for preservation.  She plucked a slab of pork and took a dainty bite, pleasing her with both the cultured taste and the significance of the act as one of domination.  Outside the battle raged still, and yet already the Swarm Queen sampled the spoils of war.  

She replaced the barrel's lid, checking its security, before strolling over to the other side.  Organized, well-labeled jars, urns, bottles, and vials lay quietly in separate cabinets, while the walls' remainder was lined with a great variety of ingredients and papers with procedures.  Clotho's eyes glittered; this was the jackpot she sought.  While she could appreciate the art of combat as much as some of her allies, it did not constitute an ultimate pleasure for Clotho.  For her, it was to possess, power and things alike.  She craved the sophistication and position such things would bring her, those things that symbolized her own skill and ability.  The Swarm Queen whistled loudly, and in a span of moments the floor ruptured to reveal an Antlion, though at a glance this particular specimen could be seen as much more than its brethren.  Its mottled carapace sported deep red stripes, the hallmark of Clotho's Honor Guard, chosen not just for their strength in battle but their ability to heed Clotho's commands.  Working quickly, she gathered up as many manuscripts, bottles, and ingredients as she could carry, bundled them together, and gave them to the Antlion to take away.  Ignoring the continued fight, even to the point of fiery explosions licking at the storehouse's door, Clotho acquired and made ready for transport everything of value to her, for she despised waste.

Once all was prepared for the Antlions to remove, Clotho made her exit from the building.  She beheld a dwarven city sans its defenders, the doomed warriors driven back into a few surviving bastions.  The forces of the Master had done their work, slaying to their insipid hearts' desires.  Just like them to not see the bigger picture.  One grimace later at the residual pain in her wings, Clotho began to walk toward the nearest concentration of the Horde, her rapier out and ready for action should the need arise.

Name: Abel Fulgurate

Age: 27

Gender: Male

Race: Human

Affiliation: The Brothers Grimm

Weapon:  The wilderness did not afford Abel the luxury of power forges, custom metals, ammunition, or dust, and he lacked the mechanical ingenuity to coax success out of what providence failed.  Fortunately, Abel did not crave sophisticated technology for his purposes, for any piece of metal sufficiently thin and tempered by whetstone held the power to shear through flesh, suffuse the mind with agony, and cut loose from history the idea that hope ever existed.  When off on the hunt, Abel's weapon of choice is the simple but effective partisan.  Little more than a blade on a stick, the partisan's long, swordlike blade can be manually detached from the haft and wielded as a longsword, which Abel's size and strength renders even more fearsome than its longer-ranged alter ego.

Abel's weapon of choice, however, barely scrapes the surface.  He also carries two knives, one thick-bladed and the other curved, and when using his partisan's sword form also wields in his off-hand the first fancy weapon he acquired: a new-age revolver called Peace.  The gun's unique design, using buckshot cartridges rather than magnum bullets, meant that after acquiring it Abel could just full the chambers with whatever tiny pieces of metal he finds lying around and blast away without much detriment to performance.

Semblance: “Insider” Abel's aura pulses a slate blue, the color of a sick man's tongue, flowing through him to the beat of his heart.  It touches every fiber of his being, polluting them all with its coarse energy, but doesn't stop there.  It is the fate and misfortune of humans to imagine themselves, perhaps wishfully, in control of their own being, but it is all an illusion for the sake of peace of mind.  In truth, Abel is no more in control, but like the philosopher he has the edge on the masses of the ignorant.  The power residing literally within Abel allows him to influence the inner workings of living things.  As long as his enemy has an aura his can connect to, their insides are his to command.  Heart rate, brain activity, muscle soreness, fatigue, pain, lung capacity, various glands—all are his as much as theirs.  With Insider, Abel can debilitate his enemies and empower himself and his ally.  Of course, there are limits to what Abel can do to an active combatant, but against entropy, doom, and demise, is not all anyone can do attempt to resist?

Personality:  The heart that beats within Abel Fulgurate is not a cold one.  Certainly, the man is detached from humanity, cut off from the realm of emotions considered normal, but he is not unfeeling.  Naturally, Abel fosters within him a depressingly complete knowledge of the inevitability of death and the futility of existence, though this does not hinder him.  Rather, the things inside Abel burn hot.  His hatred pumps through his veins, a burning poison, and fear runs rampant within the crevices of his brain.  His very skin carries a tinge of the envy that clogs his arteries, and when his tears flow, he weeps with sorrow powerful enough to drive those less resilient than he to suicide.  Despite these toxins, however, Abel does not allow himself to collapse, envenomed, and fade away.  Another drug stuck on permanent loop through his guts is pride, for all that he is, and the prickling of pride forces him to continue.  Abel knows full well that he is doomed, he and all the world, but he will not let that knowledge defeat him.  

If others will not embrace what's coming, he cares not.  If they cling to idiotic ideas of heroism, though, or imagine themselves to be villains greater than the world itself...he is all too eager to tear that nonsense from the bosoms of heroes and villains, showing them in their final moments that there is no rebellion against the world of Grimm.  To kill is not to murder; to kill is to reward the heroes and villains with an early death, far more kind than the one The End had in store.  Abel's goal is not purposeless, meaningless slaughter, but the methodical and discriminate elimination of those who thought they wielded power.  The End is the fate of all humans, and in the Brothers Grimm, The End lived, and would never be denied.

Appearance:  Like his twin brother, Abel is tall—six feet, eleven inches, in fact.  Between that lofty height and the inhospitable earth is 280 pounds of muscle, an intense and waiting power capable of crushing bones with kicks and splitting skulls with the cleaving swings of a longsword.  His skin is in places tanned and pale, due no doubt to a remarkable consistency in clothing choice.  Black jeans, dark brown hide boots, a ragged undershirt, and a black duster are his usual attire, though on top he commonly wears whatever pieces of armor will stay on him and protect him.  Most often he wears a hood, a bandanna over his mouth and nose, and thick gloves with the trigger fingers cut off.  On the back of his duster is a giant, faded red frowny face, painted on and fearsome.

Beneath the hood are Abel's eyes, a constant storm of emotion most commonly mistaken for fury.  They are neither distant nor dead, but passionate, far too passionate.  Compared to the rest of this towering brute, his eyes seem very interesting indeed, a maelstrom of feeling strong enough to sweep up anyone foolish enough to try and stand their ground.

History: That night, not one brother fell from the wall, but two.  When the long lucky streak of the Fulgurate line of guardians finally drew to an abrupt close on the day of the Grimm insurgence, Abel and Kane both plummeted from the kingdom of Vale's bastion edge, down, down, down into the wilderness.  Both lost something valuable after hitting the ground, but for neither was it his life.  When Abel and Kane dragged themselves from the blood-drenched ground, listening to the crackle of their fractured bones and the shrieks of Grimm in existence, feeling their innards sloshing around within them, no beautiful or wondrous thing in all of existence could have quieted their despair.  But their broken souls, sparking dimly amid the howling dark, prevented death from claiming them that day.  Light shone around them, fitful but assertive, a dull blue and a dull green.  While Kane's semblance, born of a resentful and selfish soul, shrouded them in concealing fog, Abel's own power shifted and mended their insides, until the brothers crawled their way from the underworld's door.

They killed for food.  Wielding sticks and stones, they slaughtered the forest animals and ate them so that they could survive.  When the Grimm attacked, they killed them, too.  Always the boys had been big, but a life in the wilderness brought out their inner strength.  They had nothing, no home, no supplies, no idea where home was and no way to get there, but they had one another.  When they finally came upon a village months later, they dared to hope that their sojourn in the wild was at its end, but far stronger were the negative emotions broiling inside them.  The pack of Grimm ever on their heels turned toward the village and destroyed it completely, leaving behind only salvage and confirmation that despair, hate, fear, and death were all that awaited mankind.

The years passed.  Over time, Kane and Abel grew powerful, finding and crafting weapons to suit their terrifying combat skills and becoming masters of their semblances.  No being who opposed them, man or beast, could triumph against the merciless duo.  Of course the brothers found civilization again, but they felt only pity for it.  One day, they came into contact with a team of four fighters from Vale patrolling the edges of the kingdom: a red-haired klutz, a glaive-wielding snake, and a candid soldier.  This quadruplet took the brothers for evildoers, and attempted to take them into custody.  Instead, the soil took in their blood over the course of weeks while their bodies decayed and wasted away.  The pistol of the soldier Abel took for himself, but Kane, already in possession of a shortbow, a longbow, and dozens of handcrafted arrows, did not plunder anything.  The encounter got the brothers thinking, however.  No individual better embodied blatant and moronic defiance of The End, that dark and bloody apocalypse that rested in humanity's future, than those who fancied themselves heroes.  Taking on the moniker Brothers Grimm, Kane and Abel became the first hunters of Hunters, specializing in taking down for good warriors armed with fancy, transforming weapons and formidable semblances.  The combination of spear and arrow, messing with insides and masking from sight, strength and tenacity, Kane and Abel...it triumphed every time.  Perhaps not the first time, but never did the brothers fail to learn, adapt, and come back for more until the rebel lay among maggots.  The body count rose, and the Brothers Grimm turned their sights to villains as well, from assassins to anarchists to serial killers to supercriminals.  Whenever fog rolls over a city or town, and the night is silent but for the heavy tramp of matching boots, none but the most oblivious of hunters and the most monstrous of psychopaths can help but shiver and wonder if their fairy tale is about is about to come to The End.

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