Dol
05-17-11, 04:03 AM
Name: Dolor “Dol” Nihilus
Age: Centuries upon Centuries
Race: Wraith, Shade, Revenant. Take your pick.
Hair Color: N/A
Eye Color: Pits of black suffering
Height: 6'6 (~2m)
Weight: Insubstantial
Personality: The World is Dolor's playground, and he knows it. He is cunning, cruel and especially deceitful. He takes delight in the suffering, torment, pain, fear, and especially the regret of others. Dol will do anything, literally anything, and everything if there is a soul to be tormented. He will promise the world, deliver what he can, and ruin the other transactor.
He does not forgive. And he does not forget. The ones that have crossed him before are the ones that suffer most now.
Appearance: Dol's looks are almost as terrifying as his demeanor. He is a disembodied skeletal torso. He consists of a ribcage with the spine mostly intact, as well as the left arm and hand. The right radius and ulna are floating where they should be, but with no humerus attached His right hand is missing several fingers. Shackles hang from both wrists. His spine extends into a jaw-less skull missing several teeth. If one looks into his eyes, it is said, they see their own death. The bones are badly charred and brittle from centuries of un-death.
This side of him, what is left of his original body, is rarely seen. A magical aura animates those old bones, and it takes the form of a human. This aura is clad in a thick robe made of burial linens and burlap. On top of this robe he has a very decorative and ornate breastplate of silver and gold. Despite its age it is in pristine condition. He peers out from a hood that rests over his incorporeal head and points his accursed finger to those who's destruction is nigh.
Skills:
Master of Deceit – Despite his abhorred appearance, Dol has a way with words. The listener finds Dol's position more and more logical the longer they listen to him. The Shade's words have a way of burying themselves into the mind and growing like a cancer. He plagues the thoughts of those who give him their ear. His lies can cut deeper than any sword and overturn a kingdom quicker than any army. In addition, his memory is vast. It is nearly impossible to catch him in a lie, and if one does, Dol laughs and devises another that covers it beautifully.
Charismatic Nature – What good is a traitorous tongue if you haven't the character to properly use it. His masterful speech extends into his facade of a personality. His words bring temporary comfort and joy, built on the scaffolding of deceit. He is popular, with that desirable air of mystery and excitement. People are naturally drawn to him (so long as they don't actually see him)
Strong Willed – Seeing as his body no longer draws breath, the only thing tethering him to existence is his incredibly strong will. Of important note: To Dol, the weak-willed are pawns in his game and he has extreme amounts of power over them. But he is virtually powerless against those that are stronger willed than he. His magic is ineffective and he can be severely damaged or even killed.
Average Polearm – Dol never took any formal training in the use of polearms, and he carries his mostly as a token to his nature, but when worse comes to worst, his skill has defended him a few times.
Undeath – Dol is no longer living, and what body he does has requires no sustenance. As such, he requires no food, water, sleep or any of the other requirements a living body brings. Flowers wilt in his presence and he carries a sort of uneasiness that those around him can't quite put their finger on. It can be mistaken as nerves, fear or even respect. His strong will affects each person differently.
Abilities: Each magic category has (usually) passive, non combat, roleplaying elements that help bring life (or undeath I guess) to Dol. The active abilities that should be considered abilities are italicized.
Frost Magic - Glacimancy “For there is nothing colder than the sentence of undeath. Fated to wander the Earth without form, watching and envying those around you. Hatred will consume the heart and blacken the soul. Your words will become ice and your touch frozen.” -Albert Chork, Book of Death p 37. Undeath and Frost magic go hand and hand. Dol is so metaphorically cold that his Will has taken on that facet. His magical abilites over cold, both physical and mental, are his primary forms of offense. He is able to slowly lower the temperature in his vicinity. Combined with his unsettling presence he is capable of instilling a stomach-knotting fear in even seasoned warriors(purely a roleplaying tool). There also is a slight coating of frost that follows him wherever he treads.
Icy Spear- The offensive extent of his glacimancy at this point is the ability to fire projectiles of ice. They are very sharp, but very brittle. They spear through flesh, cloth and leather all too easy but shatter on wood, stone or metal. He is capable of firing such a projectile every other post.
Shadow Magic - Umbromancy “..and then, as I recall, he was behind me. I saw phantasms dancing in the candle light. Skulls, demons and other beasts leapt and lunged at me. I wasn't hurt, save for near death by the pounding of my heart in my chest.” - Albert Chork, Book of Death, Epilogue p. xxiv. Because Dol is incorporeal, his exists in the shadow. This magic has very few tangible effects on others, but is terrifying nonetheless. He can push his incorporable body through anything of keyhole size or smaller. (under doors, in windows, cracks in bricks, etc)
Shadow Form As mentioned a few sentences ago, Dol exists in the shadow. At will he can become shadow, but not instantaneously. (No dodging blows) He becomes totally incorporeal. He is unable to physically interact with any object or cast magic, but he is also immune to physical damage(while taking 5x the effect from non-frost magic). While in this state, he may move anywhere that is connected by a shadow in the duration of one post. In the daytime it could be across the room, while at night it could be across the countryside. He may not enter the light in this state. It is not that he will be destroyed, he is physically unable to enter the light willingly or unwillingly.
Plague Magic – Pestilimancy - “The Undead are a plague. To be cured. But like all plagues, they are dangerous. Contagious. They spread, infecting those they meet and polluting humankind.” -Albert Chork, Book of Death p.1. The very nature of undeath is that of a pestilence. The undead exist to snuff out the living, and through his Plague Magic, Dol intends to do so. Objects that Dol handles rot and rust faster, and those who spend too much time near him slowly develop diseases. Flowers wilt and the land dies where he goes.
Death and Decay – This ability is a rather complex one. Dol targets anobject or living entity and causes it to fall into a state of rapid deterioration. Wood rots practically instantaneously, stone disintegrates and erodes and metal quickly oxidizes into dust. Flesh, both living and dead, rots off the bone and becomes diseased. Dol may use this ability over an area of up to half a square mile, but the effects become severely de-concentrated and may at best kill a few crops or small animals, pollute some water or make a few people sick. If he touches the object to be decayed, the effects are devastating. The effect of this ability is up to PCs to decide and will not be used without their explicit consent. The ability is so taxing on his will he may only use it once per day.
Equipment:
Silver and Gold Breatplate “The Carapace.” - This is the armor that Dol wore in his life, and it is sentimental to him. It protects him as well as iron, despite its soft metal design. It is preserved in his undeath and is immune to oxidation, dings and dents. It is as much an animated part of his body as his bones are.
Bone Scythe “The Tusk.” – A wooden hilt with a long white blade at the top. The blade is fashioned of the Rib bone of something large. It is slightly sharpened and very pointy. It has a hardness somewhere between iron and steel, but rarely sees combat.
The Sentient Eye – Much like Dol's Armor, this ring is a part of his body. It was gifted to him by the archmage of his order when he stepped down. It is a ring of tremendous power and devastation. It is fashioned of a Delyn, and has been imbued heavily. It was very useful in his life, but to his undead magic, it is useless.
History:
Knocks at the door. A human opened his sleepy eyes and peered towards the window. Torchlight flickered against the wall and faintly illuminated his regal apartment. Mumbled and muffled chanting resonated inside his stone bed chambers and he slowly got up, still drowsy and still a little tipsy. He struggled to light the candle at his bedside and called out “I'm coming, I'm coming...”
Banging at the door. Whoever was outside was getting impatient. A female voice, hurried and frantic called from outside. “Dol! Dol! Get up! They know. Hurry please for the love of God, hurry.” No sooner had she uttered this sentence and Dolor opened the door.
“What is it, Marilyn?” He inquired. His eyes bounced focus from her left to right eye repeatedly. It was a bad nervous habit when he was worried. She dropped her torch, buried her head in his shoulder and began to weep violently.
“They... they know.... abou... about the ma...magic and the... alchemy.” she wept through intermittent sniffles. “The bis... bishop as put out... and he put out a warr.... a warrant on you!”
The penalty for practicing unsanctioned magic was death. The penalty for practicing alchemy was death. Both by immolation in the town square.
“Come inside, quickly...” Dolor guided his lover into his quarters and looked hastily for any watchers. None. He had a few moments at least. He closed to door and turned back to her. “Gather anything you think you'll need. I'm getting my coat.”
Drawers flung open and Marilyn dug through them. She brought necessities mostly. A pan, a canteen, some spices, the tent. Dolor put his armor on. If they were found, it would be a fight. Several minutes passed, and they were escaping through the back door. They heard the shouting of the mob. Dolor forced himself to be deaf to their words. Marilyn began to weep again.
They fled through the cool grass. The dew had just settled. It was a clear night, beautiful, with not a cloud in the sky. All the stars were visible, and it was the only solace the two lovers had. “The moon. It is full! How pretty...” Marilyn said with the only smile she had that night. When they reached the outskirts of town they ran. Their hearts raged inside their chests as muscles burned, tendons stretched and bones jarred.
They stopped about a half mile away from town, breathing heavily. “We go to... Lovrenton...” Dolor gasped, hands on his knees and exhausted. “I've got a friend.... He can put us up.... We'll travel tomorrow night...” That was the last bit of truth to escape Dolor Nihilus's lips.
They recuperated briefly and began their escape again. They began to hear horses behind them and the clinking of armor. Dolor knew he would be caught. But what about Marilyn? “You go through the woods. The address is 31 Sylvar Lane. We'll meet there.”
“Promise?” She questioned, tears welling in her eyes.
“Promise.”
She did as instructed and ran into the woods. In a matter of minutes, Dolor was caught by galloping knights on horseback. The Captain of the Brigade, Anderson Hawks dismounted.
“Dolor Nihilus. You are hereby placed under arrest by the King and Church for heresy.”
Dol began to weep. 'Not like this...' he thought to himself. 'I hadn't even said good bye.'
He was bound and taken to the town square. There were two stakes set up. He knew a couple of the other magi were practicing forbidden arts, but was unsure as to who else slipped up. Then he heard a scream. A female scream.
“Marilyn!” He called out. He resisted, but the knight threw him to the ground and kicked him hard in the ribs.
“Bloody heretic. I ought ta gut yer sorry snivelin ass right hee'ya....” Dolor was picked up by his hair and pushed against the stake. He looked to the other stake, Marilyn was tied there, weeping uncontrollably.
“She did nothing wrong!” He screamed, over and over. His voice became hoarse, and began to fade as Captain Hawks read their sentencing.
“You, Nihilus are to be burned at the stake until death for practicing the forbidden arts and alchemy. So is the judgment from our Bishop Aldaeris, Bless his name Amen.” A resonating amen rose from the chorus of the mob. “And you, Marilyn Carter are to be burned at the stake until death for assisting the desires of a heretic. So is the judgment from our Bishop Aldaeris, Bless his name Amen.” Another resonating Amen. “Light it up boys...”
The next few moments went agonizingly slowly. The fires spread around the tinder and began to burn Dolor's feet and calves. He squeezed his jaw so tighly that his teeth fractured and cracked. He had to be strong for Marilyn. Her screams tore through the night as she slowly was consumed by the fires. Her face contorted and scarred, her beauty forever taken from her. Her screams became scratchy, then hoarse, then airy. Finally she slumped over and continued to burn.
Dolor wept. He wept harder than he had ever in his life. His legs were burnt to his bone, but his physical pain was nothing compared to the hatred brewing inside of him. He looked up. The stars were gone. Thick noxious smoke and the fumes of burning flesh marred the night sky. Not even the light of the full moon permeated this smog of death and injustice. The pain welled up inside of him...
...and he died.
Age: Centuries upon Centuries
Race: Wraith, Shade, Revenant. Take your pick.
Hair Color: N/A
Eye Color: Pits of black suffering
Height: 6'6 (~2m)
Weight: Insubstantial
Personality: The World is Dolor's playground, and he knows it. He is cunning, cruel and especially deceitful. He takes delight in the suffering, torment, pain, fear, and especially the regret of others. Dol will do anything, literally anything, and everything if there is a soul to be tormented. He will promise the world, deliver what he can, and ruin the other transactor.
He does not forgive. And he does not forget. The ones that have crossed him before are the ones that suffer most now.
Appearance: Dol's looks are almost as terrifying as his demeanor. He is a disembodied skeletal torso. He consists of a ribcage with the spine mostly intact, as well as the left arm and hand. The right radius and ulna are floating where they should be, but with no humerus attached His right hand is missing several fingers. Shackles hang from both wrists. His spine extends into a jaw-less skull missing several teeth. If one looks into his eyes, it is said, they see their own death. The bones are badly charred and brittle from centuries of un-death.
This side of him, what is left of his original body, is rarely seen. A magical aura animates those old bones, and it takes the form of a human. This aura is clad in a thick robe made of burial linens and burlap. On top of this robe he has a very decorative and ornate breastplate of silver and gold. Despite its age it is in pristine condition. He peers out from a hood that rests over his incorporeal head and points his accursed finger to those who's destruction is nigh.
Skills:
Master of Deceit – Despite his abhorred appearance, Dol has a way with words. The listener finds Dol's position more and more logical the longer they listen to him. The Shade's words have a way of burying themselves into the mind and growing like a cancer. He plagues the thoughts of those who give him their ear. His lies can cut deeper than any sword and overturn a kingdom quicker than any army. In addition, his memory is vast. It is nearly impossible to catch him in a lie, and if one does, Dol laughs and devises another that covers it beautifully.
Charismatic Nature – What good is a traitorous tongue if you haven't the character to properly use it. His masterful speech extends into his facade of a personality. His words bring temporary comfort and joy, built on the scaffolding of deceit. He is popular, with that desirable air of mystery and excitement. People are naturally drawn to him (so long as they don't actually see him)
Strong Willed – Seeing as his body no longer draws breath, the only thing tethering him to existence is his incredibly strong will. Of important note: To Dol, the weak-willed are pawns in his game and he has extreme amounts of power over them. But he is virtually powerless against those that are stronger willed than he. His magic is ineffective and he can be severely damaged or even killed.
Average Polearm – Dol never took any formal training in the use of polearms, and he carries his mostly as a token to his nature, but when worse comes to worst, his skill has defended him a few times.
Undeath – Dol is no longer living, and what body he does has requires no sustenance. As such, he requires no food, water, sleep or any of the other requirements a living body brings. Flowers wilt in his presence and he carries a sort of uneasiness that those around him can't quite put their finger on. It can be mistaken as nerves, fear or even respect. His strong will affects each person differently.
Abilities: Each magic category has (usually) passive, non combat, roleplaying elements that help bring life (or undeath I guess) to Dol. The active abilities that should be considered abilities are italicized.
Frost Magic - Glacimancy “For there is nothing colder than the sentence of undeath. Fated to wander the Earth without form, watching and envying those around you. Hatred will consume the heart and blacken the soul. Your words will become ice and your touch frozen.” -Albert Chork, Book of Death p 37. Undeath and Frost magic go hand and hand. Dol is so metaphorically cold that his Will has taken on that facet. His magical abilites over cold, both physical and mental, are his primary forms of offense. He is able to slowly lower the temperature in his vicinity. Combined with his unsettling presence he is capable of instilling a stomach-knotting fear in even seasoned warriors(purely a roleplaying tool). There also is a slight coating of frost that follows him wherever he treads.
Icy Spear- The offensive extent of his glacimancy at this point is the ability to fire projectiles of ice. They are very sharp, but very brittle. They spear through flesh, cloth and leather all too easy but shatter on wood, stone or metal. He is capable of firing such a projectile every other post.
Shadow Magic - Umbromancy “..and then, as I recall, he was behind me. I saw phantasms dancing in the candle light. Skulls, demons and other beasts leapt and lunged at me. I wasn't hurt, save for near death by the pounding of my heart in my chest.” - Albert Chork, Book of Death, Epilogue p. xxiv. Because Dol is incorporeal, his exists in the shadow. This magic has very few tangible effects on others, but is terrifying nonetheless. He can push his incorporable body through anything of keyhole size or smaller. (under doors, in windows, cracks in bricks, etc)
Shadow Form As mentioned a few sentences ago, Dol exists in the shadow. At will he can become shadow, but not instantaneously. (No dodging blows) He becomes totally incorporeal. He is unable to physically interact with any object or cast magic, but he is also immune to physical damage(while taking 5x the effect from non-frost magic). While in this state, he may move anywhere that is connected by a shadow in the duration of one post. In the daytime it could be across the room, while at night it could be across the countryside. He may not enter the light in this state. It is not that he will be destroyed, he is physically unable to enter the light willingly or unwillingly.
Plague Magic – Pestilimancy - “The Undead are a plague. To be cured. But like all plagues, they are dangerous. Contagious. They spread, infecting those they meet and polluting humankind.” -Albert Chork, Book of Death p.1. The very nature of undeath is that of a pestilence. The undead exist to snuff out the living, and through his Plague Magic, Dol intends to do so. Objects that Dol handles rot and rust faster, and those who spend too much time near him slowly develop diseases. Flowers wilt and the land dies where he goes.
Death and Decay – This ability is a rather complex one. Dol targets anobject or living entity and causes it to fall into a state of rapid deterioration. Wood rots practically instantaneously, stone disintegrates and erodes and metal quickly oxidizes into dust. Flesh, both living and dead, rots off the bone and becomes diseased. Dol may use this ability over an area of up to half a square mile, but the effects become severely de-concentrated and may at best kill a few crops or small animals, pollute some water or make a few people sick. If he touches the object to be decayed, the effects are devastating. The effect of this ability is up to PCs to decide and will not be used without their explicit consent. The ability is so taxing on his will he may only use it once per day.
Equipment:
Silver and Gold Breatplate “The Carapace.” - This is the armor that Dol wore in his life, and it is sentimental to him. It protects him as well as iron, despite its soft metal design. It is preserved in his undeath and is immune to oxidation, dings and dents. It is as much an animated part of his body as his bones are.
Bone Scythe “The Tusk.” – A wooden hilt with a long white blade at the top. The blade is fashioned of the Rib bone of something large. It is slightly sharpened and very pointy. It has a hardness somewhere between iron and steel, but rarely sees combat.
The Sentient Eye – Much like Dol's Armor, this ring is a part of his body. It was gifted to him by the archmage of his order when he stepped down. It is a ring of tremendous power and devastation. It is fashioned of a Delyn, and has been imbued heavily. It was very useful in his life, but to his undead magic, it is useless.
History:
Knocks at the door. A human opened his sleepy eyes and peered towards the window. Torchlight flickered against the wall and faintly illuminated his regal apartment. Mumbled and muffled chanting resonated inside his stone bed chambers and he slowly got up, still drowsy and still a little tipsy. He struggled to light the candle at his bedside and called out “I'm coming, I'm coming...”
Banging at the door. Whoever was outside was getting impatient. A female voice, hurried and frantic called from outside. “Dol! Dol! Get up! They know. Hurry please for the love of God, hurry.” No sooner had she uttered this sentence and Dolor opened the door.
“What is it, Marilyn?” He inquired. His eyes bounced focus from her left to right eye repeatedly. It was a bad nervous habit when he was worried. She dropped her torch, buried her head in his shoulder and began to weep violently.
“They... they know.... abou... about the ma...magic and the... alchemy.” she wept through intermittent sniffles. “The bis... bishop as put out... and he put out a warr.... a warrant on you!”
The penalty for practicing unsanctioned magic was death. The penalty for practicing alchemy was death. Both by immolation in the town square.
“Come inside, quickly...” Dolor guided his lover into his quarters and looked hastily for any watchers. None. He had a few moments at least. He closed to door and turned back to her. “Gather anything you think you'll need. I'm getting my coat.”
Drawers flung open and Marilyn dug through them. She brought necessities mostly. A pan, a canteen, some spices, the tent. Dolor put his armor on. If they were found, it would be a fight. Several minutes passed, and they were escaping through the back door. They heard the shouting of the mob. Dolor forced himself to be deaf to their words. Marilyn began to weep again.
They fled through the cool grass. The dew had just settled. It was a clear night, beautiful, with not a cloud in the sky. All the stars were visible, and it was the only solace the two lovers had. “The moon. It is full! How pretty...” Marilyn said with the only smile she had that night. When they reached the outskirts of town they ran. Their hearts raged inside their chests as muscles burned, tendons stretched and bones jarred.
They stopped about a half mile away from town, breathing heavily. “We go to... Lovrenton...” Dolor gasped, hands on his knees and exhausted. “I've got a friend.... He can put us up.... We'll travel tomorrow night...” That was the last bit of truth to escape Dolor Nihilus's lips.
They recuperated briefly and began their escape again. They began to hear horses behind them and the clinking of armor. Dolor knew he would be caught. But what about Marilyn? “You go through the woods. The address is 31 Sylvar Lane. We'll meet there.”
“Promise?” She questioned, tears welling in her eyes.
“Promise.”
She did as instructed and ran into the woods. In a matter of minutes, Dolor was caught by galloping knights on horseback. The Captain of the Brigade, Anderson Hawks dismounted.
“Dolor Nihilus. You are hereby placed under arrest by the King and Church for heresy.”
Dol began to weep. 'Not like this...' he thought to himself. 'I hadn't even said good bye.'
He was bound and taken to the town square. There were two stakes set up. He knew a couple of the other magi were practicing forbidden arts, but was unsure as to who else slipped up. Then he heard a scream. A female scream.
“Marilyn!” He called out. He resisted, but the knight threw him to the ground and kicked him hard in the ribs.
“Bloody heretic. I ought ta gut yer sorry snivelin ass right hee'ya....” Dolor was picked up by his hair and pushed against the stake. He looked to the other stake, Marilyn was tied there, weeping uncontrollably.
“She did nothing wrong!” He screamed, over and over. His voice became hoarse, and began to fade as Captain Hawks read their sentencing.
“You, Nihilus are to be burned at the stake until death for practicing the forbidden arts and alchemy. So is the judgment from our Bishop Aldaeris, Bless his name Amen.” A resonating amen rose from the chorus of the mob. “And you, Marilyn Carter are to be burned at the stake until death for assisting the desires of a heretic. So is the judgment from our Bishop Aldaeris, Bless his name Amen.” Another resonating Amen. “Light it up boys...”
The next few moments went agonizingly slowly. The fires spread around the tinder and began to burn Dolor's feet and calves. He squeezed his jaw so tighly that his teeth fractured and cracked. He had to be strong for Marilyn. Her screams tore through the night as she slowly was consumed by the fires. Her face contorted and scarred, her beauty forever taken from her. Her screams became scratchy, then hoarse, then airy. Finally she slumped over and continued to burn.
Dolor wept. He wept harder than he had ever in his life. His legs were burnt to his bone, but his physical pain was nothing compared to the hatred brewing inside of him. He looked up. The stars were gone. Thick noxious smoke and the fumes of burning flesh marred the night sky. Not even the light of the full moon permeated this smog of death and injustice. The pain welled up inside of him...
...and he died.