Wraithblade6

Knights of The Dawn Covenant: The Longest Winter

@TheDarkTemplar Thanks. List me in the CS tab. k?

Knights of The Dawn Covenant: The Longest Winter

@TheDarkTemplar

CS is done. Have a look.
http://www.roleplayerguild.com/topics/87036-knights-of-the-dawn-covenant-the-longest-winter/ooc?page=204#post-3372450

Blood Suckers vs The Werewolves

Security cameras didn't record enough frames per second to capture Mithias at the speed he could move. A short distance away, the vampire went off road. Werewolves were in the area, and they would show up in the surrounding country. No matter how young or modern they were, they all felt a call to return to the wilderness. It was time for Mithias to do some tracking, to find out what they were up to.

He slowed down when he came to a great open field. Some farmer had been using this land for beef cattle a few years ago, but now the field was left to overgrow. Slowly the trees were moving in to retake it around the edges. It was rather peaceful. He stood still, and eventually the sounds of crickets and frogs returned to their previous level of hum all around him. A silver-lined dagger rode comfortably aside his long thigh, just in case.

The din of the bugs defeated any chance at hearing anything significant, but Mithias wasn't listening for abnormal noises. He was listening for abnormal silence.

HCL Minus: Tiny has had enough of this thread.

@supertinyking
You gonna post for @daggerskull and Eclipse?

Blood Suckers vs The Werewolves

"If I wanted your head, you never would have seen me." The vampire never took his golden eyes off her as he moved toward the desk. As much as hearing this reassured her of her present safety, it was simultaneously irritating and insulting. This jackass had some nerve underestimating her like that, daring to imply that she couldn't defend herself. How sweet it would be to see that flashy black mane of his dangling from a pike.

A white fairly clawed finger casually lifted the pin of the recordplayer, ending the pleasant jazz that had been filling up the background. The void of silence left behind added a slam of stark realism to the present moment, a reminder that Elle was in all actuality, in real danger. "Don't take me for a houseguest, Miss Woodson. I broke into your abode and slaughtered your compatriots, and I might still kill you." He withdrew his hand to his side, leaving the record spinning silently. The swords were only centimeters away from the fiend's grasp. They weren't exactly blessed oak stakes, but a strike to the heart or decapitation would still be lethal to a vampire. At least, having to deal with them would hurt like a bitch. Nonetheless, the vampire clearly wasn't going to sit down. ...the rude motherfucker didn't even take off his hat.

"I don't care that you kill your prey, or roam where you wish, or feign superiority over your infantile kindred, but I do care that you incite the ire of our distant cousins, the werewolves." Mithias curled back his lips and seethed his words through his nearly-clenched teeth in emphasis. "You.. have... NO IDEA... of their capacity for revenge. The ancient packs of the North could overtake this entire hemisphere." He tried to make her understand the severity of their situation. Killing other immortals wasn't really his thing, not anymore, but if their ambitions blinded them to reason, then he'd have to. "These whelps you murder and play with in the streets of the human city are mere shadows to their forefathers. You..."

A sharp, yet beautiful, crisp bell cracked into the peaceful air that had just been carrying the vampire's male voice. An old-style porcelain telephone that had taken up the corner of Miss Woodson's desk began to ring its dutiful song... Coils and wires suddenly sprang out as the bells clamored a death-scream. Two halves of the former phone bounced off the desktop and fell to the floor, permanently quieted.

Seeing a blade in his right hand, Elle realized she didn't even see Mithias move before the phone was destroyed. Quickly, he had his eyes back on her. Mithias straightened, and he realized, it was time for him to leave.

"Heed my warning, coven leader, or you will learn my name." Not really having much more to add, or to destroy, Mithias turned around and headed out the office door and to a fire escape. He just... walked off. No flirting, no charisma, no calling card. Fucking self-righteous oldbloods, if that's even what he was. Couldn't he just schedule an appointment like everybody else? Certainly he lived around here. He could be followed, found out for what he was, and given a little taste of hell. Outdated creeps like him needed to die out already.

Knights of The Dawn Covenant: The Longest Winter

Damien Varomere

Name: Damien Mithias Varomere

Appearance:



Age(20 and up): 27

Gender: M

Race: Human

Rank: Soldier

Personality: Split between a patient, obedient, disciplined, and caring young man, and a less often loosed darker side of paranoia, fear, hatred, and distrust. Either way, Damien keeps quiet most of the time, but acting independently, without asking for permission or communicating appropriately beforehand. It's difficult to tell if he hates others, or hates himself. Fortunately, he seems to enjoy hating the enemy, and is well able to stay focused on that.

Bio: Damien started in an orphanage. He claims to have taught himself necromancy, but there is no doubt he had some kind of outside influence. He's been an adult long enough to have learned such magic, but it's strange to find one so young so adept in this particular field. Necromancy is not so popular among the civilized and noble.

In short, he was different than the other children, even the older ones who had more wretched dispositions. Religion was half-beaten into him, and inwardly, he rebelled. His primary grounding in sympathy, Mother Luna, passed away right before he was forced to leave the orphanage. He never actually got adopted. He distrusted most everyone and lived as a rebellious skeptic until a woman softened his heart. She was of course promptly murdered by gangsters for supposedly being in the wrong place at the wrong time. They hadn't been married long, and Damien still wears her ring around his neck on a chain. He'll kill anyone who touches it.

He searched for her killer, but was never able to find him. In his depression, he turned to blood magic and seriously fucked up his mind, hence the split personality. He focuses on killing monsters in general now to placate himself. Nobody knows about his past illegal use of magic or why he dabbled in it. "Don't judge me."

Weapons(Primary, Secondary, Tertiary): Damien's primary weapon is his magic. Secondarily, he is fit and can fight with a sword, but he's not very practiced. He carries one in case the need would ever arise, and it has a few times. Tertiary, he has a couple daggers.

Magic:

So necromancers seem to be characterized by the raising of temporary, powerful, undead minions, and he can do that. He can call on spirits, speak to ghosts, and sense souls like a second sight with a little concentration. But what good is a necromancer that can't use his magic to directly defend his own corpse? In this endeavor, Damien has learned to cause fear, cause sickness, and cause weakness at a short distance, and to drain the lifeforce out of his assailants with his touch. He can use some of that drained life energy to heal himself, but it's not very efficient. He can of course control undead, destroy them, and torture them should they try to resist him. He is resistant to cold and needs little sleep. He learned to cast a weak lightning spell as a ranged attack, but hopefully, his minions will be doing most of the fighting.

Other: Damien really.... really, really hates dark elves.

Post Example:

The Edge of Anarchy

I wrote this collab with a friend 3 years ago. It's a sample. Enjoy.

At the moment he found her, time stood still. The sun ceased crossing the sky and his heart beat no more. All that he had been had died within, his spirit vanquished in a merciless instant, leaving behind a body that could only be described as an empty shell. Vacant, despondent, the same moment never ticking over for him for weeks, Damien Varomere was wasting away. Friends had abandoned him to his grief, calling him hopeless. Every moment, he saw her blood, her beautiful face... The images forever burned into his eyes. Waves of tears beat him raw, locked away in the home that had once been theirs. It was starvation that eventually drove him out.

Mindless, like an animal, or rather "souless," to be more accurate, the grief-stricken widow
had walked the streets. Breathing was familiar, sunlight was too, but Damien inwardly cursed the world for coldly continuing on without her. It was nothing to him without her, and as fierce as his denial was, reality remained unmoved. That is when he saw the ring.

No one in the universe may know what brought his eye to that jewelry stand, but he saw it. Lifting it up in complete disbelief he confirmed it was in fact hers. The very ring he had wed her with shortly before her murder. Suddenly, time rushed forward in a blur. Every moment he had ceased to exist rushed to catch up to him, colliding with him mentally with such force it was practically lethal. He lunged at the vendor, grabbing his neck and quickly drawing the attention of the law. He made the vendor tell him who sold him the ring, and only after that was he able to collect any shred of composure. The vendor was not his lover's killer and not his target. Damien, the crazed maniac, was forced away. Unfortunately he could not have afforded to buy back the ring even if he hadn't been arrested, but from that moment on, his mission was clear. The flame of vengeance blazed like a bonfire over his sorrow. He would find the murderer who took that ring off his wife's dead hand and kill him. No threat of pain or death would stop him. Thus it was when he turned to darkness.

Damien knew no good god would have supported him in his murderous endeavor. He blamed them, all of them, for his foul fate and the persistence of wickedness and chaos that randomly took his beloved's life. He sought to profess himself to the other side, to plead with the supreme forces of evil and order to support his cause, to lend him aid. There was only one deity that suited him. To him, Damien had constructed a meager alter beneath his home where he offered prayer and worship. Time went by and Damien learned more of this newfound faith, but he drew no closer to finding his target. Truth be told, he had fallen far during his despair. He had already had a childhood fraught with difficulty. Without Saria, he had no shield or hope against a word that hated him for his bloodline. She had been the blessed one, leading him and others to the light of good. How she was everything to him. The fact she had been taken from him was a clear demonstration of how meaningless it had all been, that faith and hope were pointless and powerless. Their goddess was either careless... or powerless. Thus, he bared his vengeful desires to Asmodeus.

One night, Damien had a strange and powerful dream. In the dream, he was at his secret altar when a sense of dread came over him, and a shadowy figure with horns reached out a hand to him. He awoke with a start. Once he had calmed himself, he got up and went down to his shrine. Seeing nothing, he lit several candles and knelt down to meditate on the dream, pondering its meaning. Had it been a premonition? And omen? or was his sleeping mind merely envisioning his true heart's desire? After a few moments, the hair stood on the back of Damien's neck inexplicably. Without knowing why, he felt like he sensed a presence in the room with him. The air became heavy, the flames on the candles began to flare up, and the energy in the air was palpable. Something was directly behind him.

Fearful, yet excited with his heart racing, Damien turned around sharply. He saw the horned figure from his dream, clearly present and glaring down at him. This was an agent of his god. He was terrified, yet eager to prostrate himself before it. His body literally trembled all around him. He waited, cowering, until it would speak, or for whatever it would do to him.

The figure stepped out of the shadows and spoke in a soft velvety voice "There there child, your master has heard your pleas." The figure puts one foot on Damiens shoulder and kicked him onto his back. "The Father of Lies will have none of that pathetic groveling you call a proper prayer!"

Now on his back, propping himself up on his elbows, Damien got a good look at her. She was about 6 foot, with red skin and blonde curly hair that framed her face. The tiefling had horns that came from her forehead and swooped back, piercings all along both ears, a voluptuous body, and wearing a very loose, scant robe. A single dagger hung at her waist. He stared at her in awe, fear, and readiness. "Teach me, master. I beg of you."

"The Father of Lies is not without his mercy, he has sent me to guide you, but first you must prove worthy of my guidance. 'Beg.'You say? Well then..." She crouched down and cupped Damiens face in her hands. "I will teach you how to truly beg. Then, you know how to make others do the same." As she said this, she got right in his face, straddling him, and kissed him. Pulling away, she stood back up. "You will call me Mistress Revin, and you, my pupil, will do well to please me. For pleasing me is pleasing our Master."

The kiss was stolen from his lips without his consent, and thus Damien first realized that she could take whatever she wanted from him at any time. ...and he would give it to her. "Yes Mistress. I will obey you. Give me my vengeance, and I will give my soul."

A smile parted her thin lips. "Good boy, but you are a far way from vengence on anyone. You are to soft. I will break you of that. Asmodeous has no need for those who hesitate. Now, be a good pet and guide me to the nearest bar. I need a drink."

His heart filled with twisted gratitude and alacrity as he rose before her. Damien was at least her height, yet he felt is if she were far above him. This was a blesing of unparalleled magnitude and for Damien, it marked the point of no return. He knew he would do anything she told him. He craved this path, wanted the control that would be the end of the crimelords who were responsible for his beloved's death. The lesser evil that they were needed to be eliminated.

Upon enetering the bar with an attractive woman, most of the crowd stopped and stared. Men dropped their drinks. Womens jaws dropped, and to some of them this woman was the finest thing they had ever seen. It wasn't long after they sat down that a fumbling serving boy clambered over to their table and asked for drinks and returned promptly. The tiefling drank four drinks before she turned to Damien, "Tell me what is it you can do, exactly?"

Damien refused any drinks but took water. He was too intent upon his mission to exhibit any weakness and mental dullness. "I have magic in me, Mistress." He looked down and reached his hand toward her slowly to touch her skin. "And, this is its nature." With that, he showed her his bloodline power, causing an abhorrent chill to shriek its way into her body. He had no idea how she would react, but he meant to be direct despite the risk of rebuke.

"Oh how cute. You thought a little display of power would impress me." She snickered. "Let me show you what I can do!" With that, she stood up and walked over a wealthy bar patron. Without even touching him, he fell to his knees and began kissing her boot. Seconds later, another patron gave her his full coin purse before kicking the other man off of her. She promptly returned to the table with a sack full of coins. "All that, and without a drop of magic. Perhaps it is more then magic I should teach you, my lovely pet." She kissed Damien's lips.

She had kissed him again, and this time Damien was irritated at himself for being completely unable to resist. He felt no love for her, only admiration and devotion... but no. He was denying the obvious. She ignited a feeling in him that had been dead, murdered along with his wife. It was pure lust. He did not deny it as he contemplated a reply. "Your ability to manipulate and control is truly astonishing. I am eager to learn." Damien tried to reign in his growing passion. He heaved a breath. "You know you have me completely in your control. Please, do not seduce me further. I cannot concentrate."

"Oh but that is your first lesson." she retorted pleasantly. "Our emotions give us power. Had I been angry, instead of having that man kick the other off my boot, I would have had him run him through. Had I been feeling a bit more playful, I could have had that man take me right then and there, but these are things you must learn." She jabbed him in the chest. "Your rage burns deep within your heart, but that is not the only emotion you have. They are all still there, even love, as pitiful as a notion that it is." Revin tossed her hair and grabbed Damien's hand and pulled him up, just as the tavern erupted with the sound of music. "Come! Dance with me. Forget your sorrow and grief for one night. For tomorrow, the real training begins." A smile crossed her face, one Revin rarely gave, one that was sincere and almost warming.

Dance?? The notion was like a foreign language. An inanity! All out war ignited inside Damien as he fought with himself internally. he was in no mood to be dncing. still, she said he had to use his emotion, that he still had the capacity for love. Everything within him resisted her command, as she pulled him up and toward the dance floor, but he knew he had to obey. He had to finally wrest his will to cave in to despair and sulking and prove his ability to stand up and fight. Sorrow was for the weak. And so he began. Her smile was actually warm, mimicking the smile he had once loved. He would find his feet and dance, for her, for revenge, for his dark lord.

The crowd parted as Revin led Damien out onto the dance floor, and to anybody watching it was obvious she was leading. With fluidity and grace the tiefling made the dance seem like nothing more then a cake walk, others approached and began to ask her to dance she politely turned them away always with the same reason "I'm here with my lover." It was a lie but they didn't need to know that, she knew Damien was still centered on vengance but he still had far to much to learn. After the song ended she pulled him outside, it had started to rain, as they walked to Damien's home she asked a question she knew would catch him off guard "Tell me about you wife?"

It was either the newfound emotional strength that his mistress had instilled in his heart, or a coldness to his former emotions that she had given him, but in either case, it was enough to allow Damien to answer her question. His eyes became unfocused as he walked. "Her name was Saria. She was loving and joyous, innocent, yet surprisingly capable. She was a follower of Iomedae, leading others to the light. She was my heart."

The human's mental stability trembled.

Revin cringed at the mention of Iomedae, she wasn't a huge fan of any of the "good" gods. She could feel her companions sorrow, his grief and his grip on sanity failing, she pitied the man but at the same time she knew she had a job to do. The tiefling gripped his hand tight and held it all the way home, still giving off the appearance of lovers, upon reaching his home she turned to him, stroking his face before embracing him "I'm sorry for your loss, but their is hope, if you do well you will see her again. However, there is a threshold you must cross. Are you willing to do so?"

"She was murdered pointlessly, but brutally." He grimaced. "I found her body in an ally, the ring I gave her was stolen. She was a causality of the crime in the city, merely caught at the wrong place at the wrong time. I don't care what it takes, but I will give anything to avenge her. Iomedae be damned."

"So be it. I will teach you what I know. Once your vengeance is complete, payment will be due." She pulled him tighter thinking what would have happened if she had met a man this dedicated. "You need rest." she stroked his face once more. "I must warn you the training will be brutal and strict. Are you sure you want to do this? The contract still has not been made."

Damien bowed. "I do not care what becomes of me after this. I am already dead. I will serve no god except Asmodeus. I foresee his victory. I long for him to ascend and subjugate this pathetic world. For this, he shall ever have my loyalty. Do not underestimate the heat of my desire, mistress. I have lot all sense of mercy and will not desist in my training."

The cleric was slightly taken aback from all of the, usually people didn't come over to the following of Asmodeous without some more prompting, but this man came willingly, much as she had many years ago. But today Revin felt odd and out of place. This man who she had only known a breif time was already far more powerful then she was. She didn't know how it could be possible. There was something about him. The first kiss she gave him was just her normal playful self. The second was different, and as Revin kissed him a third time, she felt something she hadn't felt in a long time from herself, passion. She abruptly pulled away, thankfully her skin was red to hide the blushing. What had this man done to her? "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend, I should go now." Revin turned to go but deep down hoped Damien would stop her.

Damien did not stop her. He was cold as ice.

So, he didn't stop her. Soon she would change that. In his heart, he lusted for her. That much Revin knew, but the real question was, did she lust for him as well? Was it something else? The rain was pouring as the tiefling walked the streets. Several inns turned her down either because they were full or they didn't like her appearance. She could have worked her magic but she didn't waste her time, after a hour of wandering she returned to a familiar house, fulling expecting to find its occupant asleep. She opened the door and quietly shut it behind her, she supposed Damien wouldn't mind if she lit a fire and warmed herself up, after all where else was she going to go, back to Hell, the flames of Hell didn't give off the heat of a real fire, or a lover for the night.

Damien returned home to find his place... which used to be Saria's place, unexpectedly warm and lit with a fire in the hearth. The house was a disaster, as one might expect would result from severe depression. Without caring what intruder might lie within, he walked past the corner to see his mistress by the fire. He approached, and knelt beside her, staring at the flames. Her presence was irresistible. "Mistress. I have one request." He turned to her, placing his hand down to the floor before her wanting nothing but to surrender to her physically. "Please, teach me to pray."

"Very well, but first I must get out of these wet robes. Do you think you have anything to fit me? If not I'm no stranger to being naked in a strange mans home, especially one as promising as you." She winked at the young man before removing her robes and letting them fall to the floor with a loud plop. Revin looked back at Damien, by now he would have noticed the tail, "well of course hes gonna notice it" she screamed mentally "your using it to pick up your dagger after all." The cleric knelt beside Damien and began to show him the way she had been taught to pray, drawing a few drops of blood from each of them she led him in a prayer to Asmodeous, after she was done she passed him the dagger. "Now, your turn."

Seeing her perfect, naked body was painfully driving him, yet the love-lost human dared not move from his position. Damien had completely forgotten she had asked about clothing as he stared at her. He watched her kneel, entranced. He gave her his hand. Only the pain of her dagger pricking him seemed to shake any sense back into him. He blinked as he watched the red rivulet flow. With their blood together, they prayed, and Damien felt ever moreso in communion with his dark deity. He accepted the dagger from her and this time cut himself of his own volition, near the cut she had given him. The act of bleeding himself willingly held spiritual meaning. It gave weight to his words when he was nothing more than a weak mortal convert. It was willingness to sacrifice, willingness to die in service. He felt a power suddenly fill him and he opened his arms, lifting his head back, to accept it. "My god!" He gasped.

Revin was pleased, she could see the same devotion she had gained when she went through her first ritual. She had noticed his eyes linger over her body. She didn't mind, for she knew what she was. Besides a cleric and sorceress, she was a woman, and a whore at that. When he had settled from the ecstasy of the ritual Revin beckoned him over. "It is no crime to look, my pet, no crime to enjoy the sights before you. I don't bite...much." The tielfing winked at the young man.

The two consummated their lust for each other.

Theme Song(optional):

Knights of The Dawn Covenant: The Longest Winter

@TheDarkTemplar alright. Will get my app up tonight.

Blood Suckers vs The Werewolves

(contains adult language)

If you live long enough, you go insane eventually. We all do. That was one of the few forboading elements of wisdom his father had given him ages ago. God only knew how long Gabriel had been around. The old vampire was so psychotic that he had gone 360 degrees and was almost sounding rational again. Mithas had of course denied the statement for years, centuries even. It wasn't the idealized future he had envisioned for himself, yet the very possibility of it plagued him like a curse, bending him into a cycle of questioning and self doubt that ironically would drive him insane, and he knew it. What a bitch.

But perhaps that condemming future was getting closer than he realized. For countless generations, he had watched his human family line, never able to interact with them directly without risking devastating consequences, only ever to admire and protect from afar, torn by need to be what he is and desire to live as they do. Eventually enough time went by and enough branches had splintered off that even he couldn't tell to whome he was blood-related anymore, that is, if his blood was at all remotely still human. He had to let them go. His love for humanity dragged on for a time after that, but it too began to fade over such lengths of time. A pride lingered, yet eventually he was faced with nothing but his own immortal reflection, the only thing that was lasting as humans came and went in their cycle of life. Only he alone never changed, never aged, never flirted with the girls, and never died. He wasn't human anymore. He wasn't a member of the many leaves in the wind, destined to fall with the change of season and pass away into dust, forgotten. He was something more akin to an element of nature, eternal, a god, and it was an interest in other gods now that took the attention of Mithias Varomere.

It was he that kept his finger on the pulse of the city, the ebb and flow of other supernatural beings who came near to his present home, in Louisiana. He knew of the formation of the younger generation of vampires into factions, or in other words, modern covens, and he knew of the brewing war with the scattered wolves that came south to explore and claim these territories. It was stupid, what they were all doing. In a way he felt above it, probably how his maker had felt for a long time, yet Mithias didn't have as much power to back up his claim to independence. Nonetheless, he still sought it. Without getting involved, he would remain free. Yet, without interacting with the world, he would remain lifeless, pointless, and as good as dead.

He jumped off the rooftop and into a dark ally.

----------

A knock comes at the door and she sighs, "Who is it?"

The door didn't immediately open, and for a vampire with enhanced perception of time, a strike in the predictable timing of things was like a bomb going off in the room. Elle's senses triggered and she suddenly became keenly aware of every sound, every scent, and every shift in the movement of molecules in the air around her. It was oddly quiet out there, even for an office. ... What the living fuck was going on?

Just as her mind began to supress the first thought of panic that began to rise up her spine, the doorknob began to turn. Fucking Farren was probably just being passive-aggressive again. Surely he deserved a swift reminder of his place, shovenistic twerp that he was. As the wheels turned in her mind, converting alarm to rationale and denying the possibility that there was any significant danger, a face that she didn't recognize was revealed behind the opening door.

Long black hair draped over broad shoulders from either side of a soft black hat. Cool white skin and reddened lips caught the artificial light in the room as the edge of the hat lifted above black brows to reveal a piercing, animalistic gaze in vivid gold. The eyes were wild like a creature that had never known captivity, yet too well defined to belong to a werewolf. A fear shot through her as she realized she did not know this vampire how now stared at her like prey. Everything she though had been protecting her had failed, every alarm, every member of the office staff, every camera...

Farren's body lie on the floor in the backround, blood on his neck, and the warm scent of fresh blood wafted into the room.

Two sharp swords slept under eigher side of his long jacket as he straightened himself in gentlemanly fashion. Sharp white points could be seen behind his lightly parted lips. Was he that fucking brazen? Who did this asshole think he was? Did he seriously come alone?! Fear and anger melded into an empowering blur. How dare he... like this asshat has any rank... he was tall and intimidating, with an aura like an unknown king, yet how could she admit it? She could sense something about him, that he had a spirit like a cross between a wild creature and a knight, yet she could not read his mind. It was like a slate of black, hidden from her. What a horror to be just standing there, not knowing what this intruder intended. Would he dare kill her?

Mithias stared at her. "Miss Woodson." He said, and he thought about how her blood would taste. Chances were he was just going to kill her and cut down on the newblood vampire scum in these parts. The last thing he wanted was a assembled angry pack of werewolves raiding near his residence. He glanced at the recently fed upon human girl behind her. He really felt nothing for her. The werewolves were really so much more valuable, given their longevity and kindred spirits. Nature had nobility, something imparted to those who lived under her rules, such as werewolves. Mithias had always been intirgued by them and didn't want them necessarily getting discovered by humans, or wiped out by vampires. "You really are a right cunt, aren't you?" He said softly.

HCL Minus: Tiny has had enough of this thread.

@supertinyking@Daggerskull

Suddenly, Karlos' weapon bounces off of some kind of invisible forcefield that randomly appeared in front of Saied. The shield seems to be a bubble 360 degrees around Saied, deflecting any attacks that came at him.

Just as Karlos was perplexedly trying to figure out what was going on, a soft, warm male voice cuts in. "Oh there you. Saied. I've been looking all over for you."

Eclipse, the winged paladin with long white hair and blue eyes, in chrome and gold armor, and with a beautiful stylized angelic sword at his side, approached the two fighters at a walk, appearing out of the mist of the distance. "Oh. I see you have a friend." Eclipse stopped and put his hands on his sides. He knew full well that the two had been fighting, for he was the one that had put the bubble shield around Saied. "Is there really so much reason to conflict in a realm of spirits?" Eclipse smiled, not really worried about being in a world for the dead.

Knights of The Dawn Covenant: The Longest Winter

@ShaggyDoo0@Zelosse

Oh I just got to the "dead god" villian in the CS tab. This looks awesome. I'm beginning to build my character in my mind. I see that @thedarktemplar has put a lot of work into this rp, and I want to obey the rules. This might take a night or so to get a decent CS together. I still have a lot of reading to catch up on.