Out of Character:
Name: Nyadir D'Var
Alias: Ebivoulya
Age: 30
Race: Half Elven, Half Human
Hair Color: Black
Eye Color: Dark Blue
Height: 6'3
Weight: 220lbs
Occupation: Adventurer/Rogue
Personality:
Nyadir has been cursed with a split-personality (refer to history). Normally, he is wary of anyone he does not know. He speaks only when he has a viable point to make, and is otherwise quiet. When he loses concentration through anger, or exhaustion, his personality completely changes to that of a wanton killer with an almost literal thirst for blood. The only physical change is his eyes, swirling from dark blue to blood filled.
Appearance:
When typically clothed, the tall and muscled half-elf wears a simple brown vest and matching brown pants, complimenting his usually light tan. His extremities are protected with armored leather boots, and armored leather gloves, basically a steel toe and heel, and metal knuckles/back of the hand. Due to consistently being attacked, he tends to wear a heavy black cloak and go by the moniker Ebivoulya. Around his neck hangs a brilliant blue sapphire given to him by his mother. A solid leather strap crosses his chest, with the hilt of his Greatsword sticking out of a hole in his cloak behind his left shoulder. Under his right arm rests a dagger held close to him by his thick leather belt.
History:
Nyadir was the son of a human blacksmith and an elven merchant. His father was a barbarian from the rigid mountains of Salvar. He took to the ocean soon after leaving his clansmen, his mind set on adventure beyond their snowy borders. He traveled to Corone, where he met his wife. They settled in a small village on the east coast, where they had their sons, Nyadir and Locke. One evening a group of riders, tattered and beaten, rode into the village. They asked for a place to rest, and the village accepted them with a small dash of doubt. There were six of them in total. In the middle of the night, these six men managed to destroy the entire town. Their leader was a man named Brothlien; a barbarian himself by trade, slaughter and wanton ravaging came easily to him. His five cohorts were the best he had met, and their choice was to either fight by his side, or die by his sword.
Nyadir’s brother, Locke, was away from the village on this night due to a dispute between him and his brother. He returned the next morning to a village full of corpses and the smell of burnt flesh. Shocked into silence, he was eventually picked up by a group of traveling monks. Nyadir was not so fortunate. He had the displeasure of watching as his father was murdered and his mother ravished. Eventually even his hiding place was found. As was their custom, Brothlien brought the children back to his mountain fortress to work the mines. He was not one to waste the strength of youth. For seven years, Nyadir worked in the mines, constantly getting into skirmishes with the guards. His will would not be broken.
Despite the many women taken into Brothlien’s chambers, he could not bear a child. He was infuriated at the thought that all he had built would be left to crumble in his absence. In desperation, he stormed into the mines looking for a suitable heir. One lad caught his eye. The largest of the boys was taken to him. The haughty barbarian gave Nyadir a choice; train under him as his heir, or be the dog’s dinner that night. The young man was wise enough to accept his captor’s offer
Patience was all Nyadir could have of his own in such a situation. He was treated like a prince outside of his training, but he often fell to unconsciousness during his sessions. Two years passed and Brothlien was ready to bring his newfound heir on a run with him. Through all the obedient destruction, Nyadir gritted his teeth. He knew his time would come soon enough.
Karma would grant him his wish in a twisted way. One evening a guard reported a strange gem. It reacted to the world around it, but any living flesh could pass right through it. One of Brothlien’s wizards referred to him a book mentioning such godly gemstones. He inquired as to how a mortal could come to possess the power of the gem. The wizard said he knew of a ritual that could rip a demonic soul from Hell into the real world, as a revenant. He also knew of a spell to bind two souls together. By combining these dark spells, he could reach into the realm of the immortal and grasp the emerald.
Brothlien ordered it done to himself and Nyadir. Until then the gem was laying on the floor of a sectioned off portion of the mines. As the ritual and spell were completed on Brothlien, the gem flew through stone and flesh to rest in the now capable grip of Brothlien the Barbarian. He held it to him like it was his very life source. Nyadir was screaming not to have the ritual done to him after seeing Brothlien writhe and shriek in pain. The steel clasps were all that was keeping him held to the stone tablet. Several wizards and sorcerers began chanting in unison, and the dimly lit cavern grew even darker. His mind recoiled in horror as he felt himself being pulled down with such painful gravity he felt his lungs would collapse of screaming. His mind went blank.
Nyadir awoke in his own bed, clothed in his normal underclothes. His first sensation was that of fighting of a long-awaited sleep. He found consciousness difficult to maintain. With time he grew more accustomed to it and found himself able to move about. Every action seemed infinitely easier. The sword he normally wielded felt terribly light. He asked for the biggest sword they had. What he was brought felt more at home in his hands than the foolish imitation of a blade he was training with before. His sheer strength amazed him. He did find that he tired more easily, though. He feared sleep, however. Unconsciousness brought him horrible nightmares of rape, torture, pain, and death. He fell into a deep depression, but found that even his feeble attempts of self-mutilation were quickly healed. It seemed he was doomed to this horrifying existence, and he had but one man to blame; Brothlien.I was in a dark room. I couldn’t tell how long I’d been there. ‘There’ had no meaning at all. Time was a figment of boredom and patience my only option. The dull, constant sound of chains being dragged across a stone floor was the only requiem to the stillness. The air smelt of cinders and ash. My arms and legs felt heavy, and I soon came to find I was shackled. I tried following the chains for a while but as soon as I turned back it was as if I hadn’t moved a foot. There was no breadcrumb trail of chains behind me to mark my progress. I quickly gave up on that idea.
After some indeterminable eternity, two dots appeared on the horizon. Soon they split into four and the sound of dragging chains grew louder. Suddenly my shackles grew tight and I fell to the floor. I was dragged toward the source of the lights. Struggle did not avail me. It grew hotter and brighter as I neared the lights. I thought I couldn’t withstand the heat any longer. Surely, I must be burning to ashes by now. The four lights condensed into one and I splashed into a pool of icy, endless whiteness.
I felt like I was drowning, there was no air to enter my lungs but something kept filling my every pore. Memories, thoughts, vague happenings entered my being in a way that made them completely and wholly mine. I experiences a thousand lives in the time I spent there. The need to breath became pointless. When I realized this, I was suddenly flung into intense pain and heat. My ears burst inward as the pressure rose, sending so much air into my lungs they exploded. The air retreated and blood filled my throat. I spent an eternity floating in that endless void, feeling my blood pour out of me.
The pain was indescribable. I soon began to thrive on it. It empowered me, became me. I was the pain. It no longer was a sensation. It was a sense; something that was always there…and then it was taken away from me.
I was angry. I felt such rage that this thing had been taken from me. I looked up and saw a face covered in folds of cloth. My first reaction was to reach up and tear its jaw off. I saw this action frame by frame, my heartbeat a constant reminder that I WAS. I saw the chains flying up, broken. The shackles dug into my skin. I felt the skin break, my muscle fibers following suit soon after. It was delightful. I couldn’t help but smile. I felt my gum tissue tearing, ripping. I could hear them clearly. I tasted the sweet, sweet metallic wine. I bathed my tongue in it. The ecstasy was overwhelming. I looked around. The grunge on the cold stone walls was distasteful. I craved that searing, tearing pain. I saw movement in the corner of my eye. My arm flew outward, and I heard the satisfying snap of a virgin forearm. The sound was intoxicating. I stood and took two steps toward the pitiful, cowering, one-armed figure before me. Then my vision started to waver, and I heard a far off sound. Darkness closed in on me.
Weeks after his traumatizing experience, he made a decision. He wouldn’t let Brothlien control the emerald he held so dear. Such power should not be given to men with his intentions. In the night he snuck into his guardian’s chamber, moving so slowly not even an elf could detect him. Such stealth was needed, as his already heightened senses had become even keener after his transformation. He reached the bed, gently lifting the emerald from the heaving chest of Brothlien. With a quick swipe of his dagger, he left with the sacred gem.
Before he left the compound, he acquired the scrolls detailing the ceremony performed on him, and a greatsword he had always been fond of. He slew all guards in his path with quiet desperation, his face growing grimmer with every swing of his blade. Finally he tasted the fresh air of freedom, and traveled at speed to distance himself from Brothlien. Ever since that night he has been forced into the life of a nomad by Brothlien’s forces, who were always one step behind him.
Skills:
Half-Elven Senses: Though he appears a human, Nyadir is a half-elven, and as such has enhanced hearing, sight, and dexterity. His senses are, on average, fifty percent keener than a human's. His night vision is slightly better than that, thanks to his affinity for the night-time employment opportunities.
Demonic Sight: After several attempts, the swordsman has been able to create a link to his demonic side without becoming engulfed in sharp, black waves of malice. Through that link, he has found a way to 'borrow' the tainted vision of his body's other inhabitant. In such a state, he can see twice as far as his normally enhanced vision, but due to the mental strain he cannot maintain it in combat.
Alpha, The Energy of Creation:
This is an awareness granted to Nyadir once he became half-immortal, a seemingly infinite source of energy that, by nature, changes and rearranges matter. He cannot channel much of this energy at once, but through extensive use he has been able to increase the amount he can channel in a single day.
Moderate Healing/Enhancement: Through approximately five seconds of concentration, he can either heal non-lethal stab wounds and non-lethal muscle-deep slash wounds up to four times per day, or he can enhance himself up to one and a half times his normal strength and speed the same number of times per day. Broken bones require twice the energy to heal, taking about seven seconds, and can be mended up to twice per day, but lethal wounds require thrice the energy of a normal wound. They can take ten or more seconds to mend, and can only be healed once per day.
Acrobatic Agility: Through pushing himself past his limits so often with his augmentation abilities, the half-elf has grown accustomed to taking unlikely risks in a split second. He has even developed an uncanny knack for wriggling out of dangerous situations, despite his size. His weight and size slow him down, but when physically enhanced he can pull off some unexpected and challenging maneuvers.
Average Swordplay: He has been adventuring with this Greatsword for the better part of ten years, and has grown used to its size and weight. He can handle the average foe without letting the weight of his blade slow him down, and can even weild it one-handed with slightly less accuracy and strength.
Average Knifework: Despite his strength and skill, the barbarian by blood has worked him into situations too tight for a large and cumbersome sword. In his trials, he has grown more swift and accurate with his dagger, and has managed with similar sized weapons. He can throw a knife and ten paces within a radius of about three feet, making him still fairly likely to miss.
Demonic Possession: Either through mental or physical exhaustion, severe anger, or life-threatening wounds, Nyadir has become witness to his own mayhem on many occasions. It is his fear of himself that keeps him from establishing any siginificant connections with others, and rightly so. Alongside his complete personality shift, the demon can bypass the half-elf's normal physical limits, and will gleefully slaughter any living thing it sees.
Equipment:
Greatsword: This blade has been with Nyadir since he escaped, and has served him well. It is roughly five feet long, with a polished double-edge, and rounded metal knobs at each end of the hilt with skulls carved into them facing opposite eachother. The hilt and handle are wrapped in black leather.
Dagger: The half-elf has gone through many daggers in his travels, though he's managed to keep the original sheath. He prefers blades with serrated edges, and around eight inches in length.
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