Unrelated but it has been a long time so ce a roleplaying game has punched me in the heart and morality by making me second guess and carefully think over every choice, and then have regrets arise when things don't turn out well. Fallout 4 was a good experience.
The Harbinger of Ferocity Member
STATUS: Masses are always breeding grounds of psychic epidemics. 6 yrs ago- Last Seen: 4 yrs ago
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Masses are always breeding grounds of psychic epidemics.
6 yrs ago
The highest, most decisive experience is to be alone with one's own self. You must be alone to find out what supports you, when you find that you can not support yourself.
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7 yrs ago
One cannot live from anything except what one is.
7 yrs ago
The slave to virtue finds the way as little as the slave to vices.
7 yrs ago
The core of an individual is the mystery of life, which dies when it is 'grasped'. That is also why symbols want to keep their secrets.
Bio
The Harbinger of Ferocity
Agent of the Wild, Aspect of the Ferine
Nature, red in tooth and claw.
"There is, indeed, no single quality of the cat that man could not emulate to his advantage."
- Carl Van Vechten
I am, at my core, a personification and manifestation of those things whose blood and hearts run red with the ferocity of the animal world. It is this which convicts and controls my works, my writing, my being; the force and guidance in which I gain wisdom from. It is what inspires me as a creator and weaver of words, the very thing I admire as an author.
My leanings, savage as they are, are of the feline sort as there exists no greater lineage of beasts whom can be drawn from. No others captivate and motivate my talent and skill as the greatest of cats do.
Most Recent Posts
I have replied, maneuvering The Red away from Ioannes and giving reasonable reason as to how in the hell he could so much as assist Ionathan with another threat in an upcoming post.
The sheer viciousness of the combat was what the aptly named "Red" reveled in; the scent of the blood of men and monsters clung in the air, it drove him to wild, bestial frenzy. Like a stoked flame, his wrath burned brighter as each blow Zargon had landed upon his hide wept small streaks of crimson. The demon, not favored by fortune and victim of his own arrogance, had not left the fight so easily as he had desired - oh no, he had wounds to lick... ones that were not bound to heal as the others with anything but time. Injuries to one's soul, what makes them them were no minor things, and angels and demons alike wore them as suit of fleshy armor, both at once indestructible to the works of men but vulnerable to something more sublime.
The vengeance and battlelust grew to pitch as the coward Zargon pulled himself away from this world in a concussive wave that shunted them all aside and as a darkness set in upon the battlefield; "living" darkness, no less. One, unknowingly assumed itself upon the seemingly vulnerable attacker, but as soon as it embraced the energy made real that was her form, she vanished without trace beyond a fine, faint mist that varied between clear spring and blue sea.
She was, just as many things, not as it appeared.
Instead it found itself under the tide of rage that was a beast of a man bestowed with the gift of its shape, too. Thrown across the cracked stone that was all that remained of Zargon's place among the body strewn street, that pool of vast fury destined for a demon unleashed itself upon the shadow which buckled as the air caught with a bright azure light. That killing blow "The Red" so prepared to level upon his diabolical foe reaped a lesser one as fangs struck with supernatural clarity and power. But the brief clap of discharged energy and the smell of ozone proved not to be a distraction to "The Red", who hungered wildly for bloody justice; still burning bright.
Whipping about, his golden eyes and blood stained fur bristled and his tongue rolled in heavy panting, he leveled upon feeling the throes of the hatred subside. Instinct no more in control he transitioned into the form of a man once more, shaking himself off briefly; the dynamics of the battle at hand had changed, and now free of his bestial wrath, so too had his.
Drawing a deep breath to steady himself, his arms then hands presented a gesture, almost as if striking at a distance; what transpired was not some form of concentrated magical strike, but a boon of restoration. Soaked and bloodied as he was, not terribly worse for wear, the other combatants now had foes of the own to confront - worse yet, even heroic men grew tired. It was for these reasons "The Red" bestowed upon them a gift of his Incarnum, healing body and spirit at the same time. Whereas the impact of the deed was pronounced upon beasts, men, even tame men, still held somewhere within them their long lost wild ties.
The amplified regeneration that now filled flesh, resolve and soul in Ionathan and Ioannes, the savage was as quickly as he began, off once more, vanishing between the rubble in moments in an ebon pantherine fomr.
Whatever demonic prey he set himself to now, he was determined to gain the ambush...
@Jon Y@The Fated Fallen@IcePezz@ArenaSnow@Letter Bee
The vengeance and battlelust grew to pitch as the coward Zargon pulled himself away from this world in a concussive wave that shunted them all aside and as a darkness set in upon the battlefield; "living" darkness, no less. One, unknowingly assumed itself upon the seemingly vulnerable attacker, but as soon as it embraced the energy made real that was her form, she vanished without trace beyond a fine, faint mist that varied between clear spring and blue sea.
She was, just as many things, not as it appeared.
Instead it found itself under the tide of rage that was a beast of a man bestowed with the gift of its shape, too. Thrown across the cracked stone that was all that remained of Zargon's place among the body strewn street, that pool of vast fury destined for a demon unleashed itself upon the shadow which buckled as the air caught with a bright azure light. That killing blow "The Red" so prepared to level upon his diabolical foe reaped a lesser one as fangs struck with supernatural clarity and power. But the brief clap of discharged energy and the smell of ozone proved not to be a distraction to "The Red", who hungered wildly for bloody justice; still burning bright.
Whipping about, his golden eyes and blood stained fur bristled and his tongue rolled in heavy panting, he leveled upon feeling the throes of the hatred subside. Instinct no more in control he transitioned into the form of a man once more, shaking himself off briefly; the dynamics of the battle at hand had changed, and now free of his bestial wrath, so too had his.
Drawing a deep breath to steady himself, his arms then hands presented a gesture, almost as if striking at a distance; what transpired was not some form of concentrated magical strike, but a boon of restoration. Soaked and bloodied as he was, not terribly worse for wear, the other combatants now had foes of the own to confront - worse yet, even heroic men grew tired. It was for these reasons "The Red" bestowed upon them a gift of his Incarnum, healing body and spirit at the same time. Whereas the impact of the deed was pronounced upon beasts, men, even tame men, still held somewhere within them their long lost wild ties.
The amplified regeneration that now filled flesh, resolve and soul in Ionathan and Ioannes, the savage was as quickly as he began, off once more, vanishing between the rubble in moments in an ebon pantherine fomr.
Whatever demonic prey he set himself to now, he was determined to gain the ambush...
@Jon Y@The Fated Fallen@IcePezz@ArenaSnow@Letter Bee
That was all an interesting turn of events to read through, or so I would like to believe. This said, now I will see what it is I actually need to respond to in the story itself.
I should be back about to my usual haunts this Wednesday or Thursday. My duties involve being away from any form of standard means of communication pretty randomly.
Huzzah for tanking a demon.
An audible clap of opposed energy snapped at the air as the demon's blade caught against the Essentia infused talons of the great tiger's paw; a visible cascade of ghostly blue and white sparks flung themselves wide across the air and faded into vapor just as briefly as they had sprung to life, leaving unnatural mist in their wake. The impact, a skillful parry by the aged fiend, was enough to spare him the worst of the viciousness inflicted upon him - an assault that was not relenting, not in the least. It was the follow through that caught "The Red" on to the move again, changing his angle of approach from a direct confrontation to the slightest chink in the enemy's defense.
The lioness, in all her rampant, snarling glory, proceeded to rake, tear and bite at every exposed inch of the demon's back; each strike shuddering with a faint amount of essence surrounding it as it inflicted true injury upon the attacked. It was at this time, the wicked blade darkening in a dim glow of magic, that the Red threw himself full force into Zargon's chest, with claws splayed wide and looking to wrench the demon to the ground - a tactic no different than those used by the beasts of the wild. With one fierce roar, hoping that the opportunity presented in brief by Ioannes would be enough, his mind bellowed with pitched fury.
"Kill or be killed, fiend!"
The longer Zargon had to do whatever it was his blade was doing, the only greater danger they surely would be in. If things went well, the monstrous being of evil would be pressed between two creatures set to wrestle him to the ground - if things went poorly, well, at least "The Red" reasoned he could survive his foe's revenge; the sheer closeness of the fighting made a sword's use difficult, but so too was Zargon armed with deadly ebon talons. This was much preferred though, given the circumstance.
It was a gamble to try to take him to the ground, but it was all that could be done in the throes of a bestial fury.
There was no time to set about a defense - the counter-attack was now. Waeldeshore had already failed to defend its leader, and any attempt to shield the scholar was foolish, likely suicidal. Or so "The Red" reasoned these things; they were expendable, but the demon before him, that which is Incarnum burned just as cleanly as the fire of the heavens or hell? This was the true thing that needed to be crippled, if not defeated; the demon's attack needed to be routed... or better yet, destroyed.
@ArenaSnow@Jon Y@Letter Bee@The Fated Fallen
The lioness, in all her rampant, snarling glory, proceeded to rake, tear and bite at every exposed inch of the demon's back; each strike shuddering with a faint amount of essence surrounding it as it inflicted true injury upon the attacked. It was at this time, the wicked blade darkening in a dim glow of magic, that the Red threw himself full force into Zargon's chest, with claws splayed wide and looking to wrench the demon to the ground - a tactic no different than those used by the beasts of the wild. With one fierce roar, hoping that the opportunity presented in brief by Ioannes would be enough, his mind bellowed with pitched fury.
"Kill or be killed, fiend!"
The longer Zargon had to do whatever it was his blade was doing, the only greater danger they surely would be in. If things went well, the monstrous being of evil would be pressed between two creatures set to wrestle him to the ground - if things went poorly, well, at least "The Red" reasoned he could survive his foe's revenge; the sheer closeness of the fighting made a sword's use difficult, but so too was Zargon armed with deadly ebon talons. This was much preferred though, given the circumstance.
It was a gamble to try to take him to the ground, but it was all that could be done in the throes of a bestial fury.
There was no time to set about a defense - the counter-attack was now. Waeldeshore had already failed to defend its leader, and any attempt to shield the scholar was foolish, likely suicidal. Or so "The Red" reasoned these things; they were expendable, but the demon before him, that which is Incarnum burned just as cleanly as the fire of the heavens or hell? This was the true thing that needed to be crippled, if not defeated; the demon's attack needed to be routed... or better yet, destroyed.
@ArenaSnow@Jon Y@Letter Bee@The Fated Fallen
*Emerges from the shadows, glaring through the red lenses of the mask*
Good morning, beings from the mortal... And not so mortal coil
It is good to know that we are not discriminating on basis of mortality. The Guild is most progressive.
Expect a post from myself some time today.
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