Striga
Nov 10, 2008 9:53:57 GMT -5
Post by sheogorath on Nov 10, 2008 9:53:57 GMT -5
Full Name: Striga
Other name: None
Race:: Shade/Sorcerer
Side: Chaotic Evil, favors the empire but has not been formally asked to join.
Birthplace: A tower which belonged to a secret order of sorcerers, now forgotten and more than likely over ran by nature.
Age: As a shade he is 30 years of age added to that of his human years.
Gender: Male
Birthday: The shade was born in the cold month of february.
Eyes: Maroon
Hair: Crimson red
Weight: 185
Height: 6ft 3in
Magic User: Yes
Preferred Weapon(s): Reona or Reaper in common tongue. A blade of medium length with a single crimson line, that shone like fresh blood in pale moonlight. It's a blade as long as you're arm (about 3 and a half feet) sturdy enough to clash blades with a rider.
Personality: He has a love for chaos and finds meaning in the thrill of battle, in the deaths and pain of others. A sadist in his own right he finds joy in things that would make the average mans mouth fill with bile.
Appearance: He wears Black suit of armor, the gauntlets of which have studs for added fist weapons, and the shoulders of which are spiked. Generally he wears no helm in to battle, disliking the restraint in vision it causes.
Likes/Dislikes: He is arrogant to a fault, and enjoys letting those around him know he can kill them with ease. Fear amuses him and the human mind holds sway to his interests as no one is like the other. He finds the joys of not just a warrior, and magic user, but of one schooled in the ways of the mind as well. (psychology)
Striga dislikes those who do not speak what they mean. Politics is something he feels is better dealt with at the point of a blade than the fork of a tongue.
Strengths: Adept at both swordplay and magic. Has very little empathy for anything which makes him an excellent tactician in the cruelest of ways.
Weakness: Can be killed by being stabbed through the heart.
Family: Was part of a family, a coven of sorcerers before he became Striga. However all are deceased now.
Not-So-Brief History: The shade utters a word you do not understand. It sounded something like brisingr. A fire pops into the fire, a pale blue color only adding to the shades already foreboding appearance. You see piles of bones scattered here and there and wish that you hadn't felt the want to explore this old warn castle.
"It's been some time since I've had visitors. A pleasure." He grins, teeth like that of a wolves, sharp, deadly. "It is good of you to come though, for I plan to be leaving soon and I want someone to spread my fear for me whilst I am gone. This is my sanctuary and I do not wish for it to be defiled. Killing your entire village would be a shame." Your eyes widen with fear but still you are unable to talk or move.
"Now...where do I begin? I suppose I'll start with human memories...." And suddenly your mind is flooded with thoughts not your own, the presence in your mind sickens you and bile rises up from your gut as you struggle to keep it down.
You are a boy, of merely 14 in a family coven of sorcerers...it appears you are in this very room although things are different more alive and less filled with dread.
Your father tells you you are a man now, and it is time to take up
the mantle of the family. You study for days, the days turning to months, the months to years and eventually you become a real man with a beard on your chin.
Suddenly things flash and speed up, obviously moving forward. You are now the leader of your coven, through subtlety and careful planning you climbed the ladder of the hierarchy. You don the robes of the arch magus and lead your people once more in ceremony. Growing ever more powerful and at the mere age of 24 no less. But there is a fear in the back of your mind, one you are unsure of...
Ah the local villagers. It seems a religious craze had come forward and witchhunts began for those that did not follow. Soon your coven hidden on the mountain side is discovered and things are thrown into a precarious ballance. The villagers blamed your heretical ways on the crops failing. Suddenly anything that goes wrong they come to you and complain. Finally they take up arms against you and besiege your coven.
This went on for many a moon, and your people grow weary, they look to you and feel your actions are not enough. They seek to strip you of your power. Your own flesh and blood traitors! Anger and hate fill you, you had given your life in devotion to these people, taken up the title of arch magus giving up many of your own rights to serve and lead them. Preformed the most dangerous of rites and for this?...a thought hits you...no, no you had not preformed the most dangerous of rites...a grin comes across your face. You take some of those that are still loyal to you to the top of the castle and there you start the summoning. You will be reborn and with this power you can stop all this madness and bring order to your land.
Suddenly your view shifts once more. You are no longer the arch magus but viewing from above. The sorcerers are all muttering something in the ancient tongue and the one you just were is sitting motionless and looks as though dead. Had they killed him? you wonder....but soon your question is answered. You see many bright lights coming from various directions and descending upon the Arch Magus. They swirl about him growing brighter and brighter, you feel terror creep from all area's from the city malitia attacking the keep, and from the sorcerers within. A scream is heard as the lights dissipate and standing before your where once there was the Arch Magus there is now a shade... "My name is Striga, and we are many..."
His voice cold as ice, he took out his hands and uttered a word of the old language and those sorcerers still loyal to him, dropped dead. A deep roar of a laugh issued forth as he went down to his so called family and slew every last one of them. Some fought back, and some fought well. But in the end none could stand to the might of the shade. He took rest in the keep, the villagers that were besieging them when they learned of what had happened, for one of the sorcerers had managed to escape, ran long and hard leaving all their items of war behind... All fades to black, and you hear only the cold voice of the shade you now know is Striga.
"I am leaving soon, and should I return and find my sanctuary as it is now I may just forget that siege your town laid upon this place. See to it nothing is disturbed less I be forced to disturb you and your kin." You open your eyes to see his wolf like grin, and you scream and beg to be released. Before he goes he makes you swear something in a tongue you know not. But from that day forward you are compelled to make sure that no one disturbs his home, be it from fear or be it's cause of magic.
Anything extra: nothing
Password: =[Admin Edit]=
Other name: None
Race:: Shade/Sorcerer
Side: Chaotic Evil, favors the empire but has not been formally asked to join.
Birthplace: A tower which belonged to a secret order of sorcerers, now forgotten and more than likely over ran by nature.
Age: As a shade he is 30 years of age added to that of his human years.
Gender: Male
Birthday: The shade was born in the cold month of february.
Eyes: Maroon
Hair: Crimson red
Weight: 185
Height: 6ft 3in
Magic User: Yes
Preferred Weapon(s): Reona or Reaper in common tongue. A blade of medium length with a single crimson line, that shone like fresh blood in pale moonlight. It's a blade as long as you're arm (about 3 and a half feet) sturdy enough to clash blades with a rider.
Personality: He has a love for chaos and finds meaning in the thrill of battle, in the deaths and pain of others. A sadist in his own right he finds joy in things that would make the average mans mouth fill with bile.
Appearance: He wears Black suit of armor, the gauntlets of which have studs for added fist weapons, and the shoulders of which are spiked. Generally he wears no helm in to battle, disliking the restraint in vision it causes.
Likes/Dislikes: He is arrogant to a fault, and enjoys letting those around him know he can kill them with ease. Fear amuses him and the human mind holds sway to his interests as no one is like the other. He finds the joys of not just a warrior, and magic user, but of one schooled in the ways of the mind as well. (psychology)
Striga dislikes those who do not speak what they mean. Politics is something he feels is better dealt with at the point of a blade than the fork of a tongue.
Strengths: Adept at both swordplay and magic. Has very little empathy for anything which makes him an excellent tactician in the cruelest of ways.
Weakness: Can be killed by being stabbed through the heart.
Family: Was part of a family, a coven of sorcerers before he became Striga. However all are deceased now.
Not-So-Brief History: The shade utters a word you do not understand. It sounded something like brisingr. A fire pops into the fire, a pale blue color only adding to the shades already foreboding appearance. You see piles of bones scattered here and there and wish that you hadn't felt the want to explore this old warn castle.
"It's been some time since I've had visitors. A pleasure." He grins, teeth like that of a wolves, sharp, deadly. "It is good of you to come though, for I plan to be leaving soon and I want someone to spread my fear for me whilst I am gone. This is my sanctuary and I do not wish for it to be defiled. Killing your entire village would be a shame." Your eyes widen with fear but still you are unable to talk or move.
"Now...where do I begin? I suppose I'll start with human memories...." And suddenly your mind is flooded with thoughts not your own, the presence in your mind sickens you and bile rises up from your gut as you struggle to keep it down.
You are a boy, of merely 14 in a family coven of sorcerers...it appears you are in this very room although things are different more alive and less filled with dread.
Your father tells you you are a man now, and it is time to take up
the mantle of the family. You study for days, the days turning to months, the months to years and eventually you become a real man with a beard on your chin.
Suddenly things flash and speed up, obviously moving forward. You are now the leader of your coven, through subtlety and careful planning you climbed the ladder of the hierarchy. You don the robes of the arch magus and lead your people once more in ceremony. Growing ever more powerful and at the mere age of 24 no less. But there is a fear in the back of your mind, one you are unsure of...
Ah the local villagers. It seems a religious craze had come forward and witchhunts began for those that did not follow. Soon your coven hidden on the mountain side is discovered and things are thrown into a precarious ballance. The villagers blamed your heretical ways on the crops failing. Suddenly anything that goes wrong they come to you and complain. Finally they take up arms against you and besiege your coven.
This went on for many a moon, and your people grow weary, they look to you and feel your actions are not enough. They seek to strip you of your power. Your own flesh and blood traitors! Anger and hate fill you, you had given your life in devotion to these people, taken up the title of arch magus giving up many of your own rights to serve and lead them. Preformed the most dangerous of rites and for this?...a thought hits you...no, no you had not preformed the most dangerous of rites...a grin comes across your face. You take some of those that are still loyal to you to the top of the castle and there you start the summoning. You will be reborn and with this power you can stop all this madness and bring order to your land.
Suddenly your view shifts once more. You are no longer the arch magus but viewing from above. The sorcerers are all muttering something in the ancient tongue and the one you just were is sitting motionless and looks as though dead. Had they killed him? you wonder....but soon your question is answered. You see many bright lights coming from various directions and descending upon the Arch Magus. They swirl about him growing brighter and brighter, you feel terror creep from all area's from the city malitia attacking the keep, and from the sorcerers within. A scream is heard as the lights dissipate and standing before your where once there was the Arch Magus there is now a shade... "My name is Striga, and we are many..."
His voice cold as ice, he took out his hands and uttered a word of the old language and those sorcerers still loyal to him, dropped dead. A deep roar of a laugh issued forth as he went down to his so called family and slew every last one of them. Some fought back, and some fought well. But in the end none could stand to the might of the shade. He took rest in the keep, the villagers that were besieging them when they learned of what had happened, for one of the sorcerers had managed to escape, ran long and hard leaving all their items of war behind... All fades to black, and you hear only the cold voice of the shade you now know is Striga.
"I am leaving soon, and should I return and find my sanctuary as it is now I may just forget that siege your town laid upon this place. See to it nothing is disturbed less I be forced to disturb you and your kin." You open your eyes to see his wolf like grin, and you scream and beg to be released. Before he goes he makes you swear something in a tongue you know not. But from that day forward you are compelled to make sure that no one disturbs his home, be it from fear or be it's cause of magic.
Anything extra: nothing
Password: =[Admin Edit]=
