Mutant_Lorenor
08-28-13, 11:46 AM
(Open to one PREFERABLY my level range. Looking for someone willing to get killed, as I would be by you.)
With a swish of the cloak, Lorenor entered the Citadel once more.
He walked towards the registration area, thinking about the pieces of meat that lurked around him. So much flesh...I am on neutral grounds though. The precepts must be obeyed. Lorenor represented the missing faction, the followers of N'Jal. His glowing amethyst eyes narrowed for a moment and he stared directly at one of the monks in front of him. For a moment, he observed the beating heart, luscious and red. Full of vibrant blood-fire. Lorenor blinked and the vision subsided for a moment, he was capable of self restraint. Unlike many of the Spider Magi in his bracket who had acquired the brain rot, Lorenor was different. His eyes burned with a fierce passion for knowledge, and a fierce hatred that threatened to consume all. He noticed it. They are afraid of me... Lorenor looked at the guards and saw them staring at him out the corner of their eyes. It was all amusing. Once, Lorenor held a power of great prestige in Spider Magi society. However, due to a restructuring within the Spider Magi's fold, Lorenor was stripped of his power and forced to start at the beginning.
He grinned at the idea of having to start over.
It was not the first time. Nor would it be the last. Lorenor thought to himself. There was a whole world to conquer, and this was one minor step forward.
The monk approached Lorenor, and instinctively, his hand went to the handle of his magnificent weapon.
"Hold." The monk said. "I mean you no harm."
After a moment's pause, Lorenor released his grip on his weapon. The monks were neutral, but the guards weren't. The guards were open territory.
"Very well." Came the raspy voice and response.
"It has been some time since last you have arrived." The monk said casually.
"I request my old Handler." Lorenor said carefully in response.
"He is no longer with us, I am afraid." The monk responded. "We try to accommodate all of our guests here in this grand vestibule."
Lorenor paused for a moment. Has such a great amount of time passed? Lorenor shook his head. "All right." Lorenor said. "Who would be my new handler then? I am seeking training in the citadel leagues."
"Long term, or short term?" The monk asked.
"Long term." Lorenor responded. He knew he had to take every step necessary to reclaim what was lost. His blade hungered for chaos and death. He would feed it soon enough. "Monk." Lorenor began. "I am here to stay...I have been away long enough."
"Very well. I will be your handler then." The monk waited for a moment to see if the other monks would object, none did.
They walked towards one of the empty Citadel chambers. "Your name, Monk." Lorenor asked.
"Riften." He said in response. "Riften of House Ragesword."
"House Ragesword..." Lorenor thought for a moment. "I recall a House Ragesword once served under my lady's banner. Powerful general did he become." Lorenor said, plainly testing the man's heart.
"Do not speak her name here, please." The monk suddenly said, referring to N'Jal.
Lorenor was no fool. He paused. "Do you truly intend to be my handler?" Lorenor asked. There was a venom in his voice. "You know what to expect of me. The previous Citadel handlers did not make requests of me. I expect you don't either." It was a threat.
The monk felt physical discomfort. "We are a neutral sect. Forgive me my insolence. It was merely a request."
"I do not question your ways." Lorenor felt true offense. "Do not question mine. I will allow you this mistake." Lorenor walked uncomfortably close to the monk. He stared right into the man's eyes. "Which Chamber will we be using?"
The monk receded and took a step back. "Chamber Nine." He said carefully. "It is not in use and may be outfitted for long term purposes such as yours." The monk found his courage. "What sort of opponent will you be looking for?"
"Can be any free applicant." Lorenor said carefully. "Be sure to tell them I intend to kill. They better be ready to. This is to the death, this is not a friendly match." Lorenor continued. "One more thing. Be certain they are within my bracket in the Citadel Leagues. None of this trickery of old that your kind is famous for." Lorenor grinned.
"Do you request a specific setting for the battle?" The monk asked.
"I do as a matter of fact." Lorenor approached the monk once more, but kept a respectful few paces away. "You see..."
***
He was in the newly constructed world of chamber number nine. The monk's power over reality always fascinated the mutant. His senses had flickered when the construct of magic manifested. It was one of the few times he ever lost command of his senses, and it unsettled him for the briefest of moment. Upon his recovery, he looked about and the world was exactly as he envisioned it would. There was a forest about him, but it was not Concordia. It was a forest from the depths of his darkest imagination. The trees were gnarled and twisted, a small grove was present where Lorenor stood at. He looked down, all about him were the corpses of the fallen on a war torn world. He looked around himself and could feel the cold of the weather he had requested. Wind came in from the west, and it had a subtle tint of winter in it. The winter storm that would come at any point. And it did. Snow drifted from the clouds of the foreign world, another world in the Althanas universe. He had called the world, Ayenee in the common tongue.
It was a broken, shattered, world. Ayenee had a single sun, but some great disaster had caused a layer of filth to float around in the sky. Ayenee was once a vibrant world. In his journeys across the world, Lorenor had discovered an ancient text called the Necronomicon that oft spoke of the lands beyond the Gates of Sensibility. Ayenee was one such layered kingdom. This was a region called The Forest of Ayenee. A grand place, now little more than a dying memory. The mutant started to pace back and forth in the small grove waiting as patiently as he could for an opponent. His eyes narrowed. He felt the rage building in his heart with every passing moment. It would be used to feed his finely forged weapon.
"N'Jal fuel my hate." Lorenor said as he waited.
With a swish of the cloak, Lorenor entered the Citadel once more.
He walked towards the registration area, thinking about the pieces of meat that lurked around him. So much flesh...I am on neutral grounds though. The precepts must be obeyed. Lorenor represented the missing faction, the followers of N'Jal. His glowing amethyst eyes narrowed for a moment and he stared directly at one of the monks in front of him. For a moment, he observed the beating heart, luscious and red. Full of vibrant blood-fire. Lorenor blinked and the vision subsided for a moment, he was capable of self restraint. Unlike many of the Spider Magi in his bracket who had acquired the brain rot, Lorenor was different. His eyes burned with a fierce passion for knowledge, and a fierce hatred that threatened to consume all. He noticed it. They are afraid of me... Lorenor looked at the guards and saw them staring at him out the corner of their eyes. It was all amusing. Once, Lorenor held a power of great prestige in Spider Magi society. However, due to a restructuring within the Spider Magi's fold, Lorenor was stripped of his power and forced to start at the beginning.
He grinned at the idea of having to start over.
It was not the first time. Nor would it be the last. Lorenor thought to himself. There was a whole world to conquer, and this was one minor step forward.
The monk approached Lorenor, and instinctively, his hand went to the handle of his magnificent weapon.
"Hold." The monk said. "I mean you no harm."
After a moment's pause, Lorenor released his grip on his weapon. The monks were neutral, but the guards weren't. The guards were open territory.
"Very well." Came the raspy voice and response.
"It has been some time since last you have arrived." The monk said casually.
"I request my old Handler." Lorenor said carefully in response.
"He is no longer with us, I am afraid." The monk responded. "We try to accommodate all of our guests here in this grand vestibule."
Lorenor paused for a moment. Has such a great amount of time passed? Lorenor shook his head. "All right." Lorenor said. "Who would be my new handler then? I am seeking training in the citadel leagues."
"Long term, or short term?" The monk asked.
"Long term." Lorenor responded. He knew he had to take every step necessary to reclaim what was lost. His blade hungered for chaos and death. He would feed it soon enough. "Monk." Lorenor began. "I am here to stay...I have been away long enough."
"Very well. I will be your handler then." The monk waited for a moment to see if the other monks would object, none did.
They walked towards one of the empty Citadel chambers. "Your name, Monk." Lorenor asked.
"Riften." He said in response. "Riften of House Ragesword."
"House Ragesword..." Lorenor thought for a moment. "I recall a House Ragesword once served under my lady's banner. Powerful general did he become." Lorenor said, plainly testing the man's heart.
"Do not speak her name here, please." The monk suddenly said, referring to N'Jal.
Lorenor was no fool. He paused. "Do you truly intend to be my handler?" Lorenor asked. There was a venom in his voice. "You know what to expect of me. The previous Citadel handlers did not make requests of me. I expect you don't either." It was a threat.
The monk felt physical discomfort. "We are a neutral sect. Forgive me my insolence. It was merely a request."
"I do not question your ways." Lorenor felt true offense. "Do not question mine. I will allow you this mistake." Lorenor walked uncomfortably close to the monk. He stared right into the man's eyes. "Which Chamber will we be using?"
The monk receded and took a step back. "Chamber Nine." He said carefully. "It is not in use and may be outfitted for long term purposes such as yours." The monk found his courage. "What sort of opponent will you be looking for?"
"Can be any free applicant." Lorenor said carefully. "Be sure to tell them I intend to kill. They better be ready to. This is to the death, this is not a friendly match." Lorenor continued. "One more thing. Be certain they are within my bracket in the Citadel Leagues. None of this trickery of old that your kind is famous for." Lorenor grinned.
"Do you request a specific setting for the battle?" The monk asked.
"I do as a matter of fact." Lorenor approached the monk once more, but kept a respectful few paces away. "You see..."
***
He was in the newly constructed world of chamber number nine. The monk's power over reality always fascinated the mutant. His senses had flickered when the construct of magic manifested. It was one of the few times he ever lost command of his senses, and it unsettled him for the briefest of moment. Upon his recovery, he looked about and the world was exactly as he envisioned it would. There was a forest about him, but it was not Concordia. It was a forest from the depths of his darkest imagination. The trees were gnarled and twisted, a small grove was present where Lorenor stood at. He looked down, all about him were the corpses of the fallen on a war torn world. He looked around himself and could feel the cold of the weather he had requested. Wind came in from the west, and it had a subtle tint of winter in it. The winter storm that would come at any point. And it did. Snow drifted from the clouds of the foreign world, another world in the Althanas universe. He had called the world, Ayenee in the common tongue.
It was a broken, shattered, world. Ayenee had a single sun, but some great disaster had caused a layer of filth to float around in the sky. Ayenee was once a vibrant world. In his journeys across the world, Lorenor had discovered an ancient text called the Necronomicon that oft spoke of the lands beyond the Gates of Sensibility. Ayenee was one such layered kingdom. This was a region called The Forest of Ayenee. A grand place, now little more than a dying memory. The mutant started to pace back and forth in the small grove waiting as patiently as he could for an opponent. His eyes narrowed. He felt the rage building in his heart with every passing moment. It would be used to feed his finely forged weapon.
"N'Jal fuel my hate." Lorenor said as he waited.