Elthas_Belthasar
02-02-15, 07:23 PM
(Open to one looking for level's 2-5 range. Non death.)
The tallest spires of The Citadel reached many hundreds of meters to the sky.
Elthas couldn't see that high, but he had a mental image of what those tallest reaches must have looked like.
He often imagined a Concordian eagle soaring through the clouds and passing by the upper expanses of the huge structure. It was a mastery of modern architecture, a structure comprised by the finest architects of each of the known races of Althanas. In the true spirit of Corone, The Citadel existed. A testament to war and conflict, it was a safe haven for all. Elthas smoked the cannibus herb as he looked up and could see the trails of his smoke swirling skyward. It was a sweetly scented herb with many potent properties. His smoking pipe was dyed a cherry colour and was made out of a study oak. He looked up at The Citadel for a long moment, and then turned his attention back down to a more centered position of gravity. His eyes narrowed as he saw the massive front gates, always open, that would allow folks to do battle with one another in an arena of their choice.
Elthas stood in a completely relaxed posture.
It had been some time since the last time he'd graced The Citadel's various combat chambers.
He didn't have to re-register, Citadel records were always maintained in pristine conditions.
Elthas held his smoking pipe in one hand skillfully, he was finely dressed that day. Corone afternoons were considerably warmer than Salvar's were. Salvar was home those days. Not by choice, but by fate. Elthas had found a headquarters for his guild, and that was the key turning point in his life. Elthas looked away from The Citadel for a moment, as if looking back the way he came. The way back was Salvar. I am not afraid. He told himself. In fact, the truth was he was scared shitless. During the invasion of the fortress near Pestovo, hundreds died. Elthas had killed many Orcs and Goblins, his memories flashed back to that event. As if he were somehow frozen in time, unable to move on from that event.
Elthas felt the wind caressing his attire.
His long coat swirled with the breeze, the fabric was comfortable and definitely chosen for function. Those days, Elthas didn't believe in heavy armour for combat. He sacrificed heavy armour for stylish clothing that could be patched up on the fly. His fedora was ever present, and he wore that a a noticeable angle. It cast an ever present shadow across his handsome face. He appeared older those days too, platinum coloured hair ended at the small of his back. It was tied in an elegant ponytail. The hair atop his scalp was slicked and tight across his head. He wore a goatee those days and it was also platinum coloured. Somehow though, despite his five centuries of life, he appeared to be barely in his late thirties. Somewhat slightly older than that, but in his thirties none the less. He was a handsome old gentleman. Visible on his head were the infamous hyper developed ears of an Elf. Elthas had an angular face that made him appear somewhat younger looking than he actually was. He wore a three piece suit beneath his long coat, it was cut in Radasanth fashion and custom tailored for his physique. Elthas's sharp blue eyes held a wisdom in them. They weren't cold or evil, they had a sincerity to them and a noticeable kindness. Elthas walked over towards the reception area.
Several finely dressed monks of the order were present attending to the various combatants and their fans.
Elthas took a glance towards his competition, then back towards the reception area. One of the monks addressed him.
"You looking for a league competition?" The older looking Hume asked.
"I'm an entrant yes." Elthas carefully put out the embers of his smoking pipe and put his pipe in it's container.
The old man blinked twice as he looked at Elthas for a long moment. "You seem familiar to me." The old man said. "State your name, applicant."
"Elthas Belthasar." Elthas said calmly as he looked at the older man.
"Elthas, is that really you?" The old man must have been one of the younger handlers that dealt with Elthas a long time ago. "It's been a long time since the last time I saw you."
"Yeah I have been busy. Getting things in my life in order." Elthas adjusted his fedora.
"Your usual chamber then?" The old man asked.
"No. Just put me in a new chamber." Elthas said calmly. "Kind of want to take liberties with this battle anyway."
***
Chamber Number Nine was emblazoned with the specific number on it's surface.
It was written in common, and below it was written several variants in a few of the known Althanas tongues.
Elthas was already ready in the chamber, and the world was manifesting around him. As usual, the magic of the monks world-weaving impressed him.
And the chosen arena? A town of Elves, abandoned long ago. Houses built into the trees themselves, and only ghosts presents. Monsters walked around in the ruined town from time to time, but the main lay out was a myriad collection of sturdy oak trees. The lights of the village were out, and the village's name was long forgotten. The Elven architecture was prevalent in all aspects of the village. Elthas stood in the middle of the village, with the open doors to the outside world visible just ahead. The challenge was clear, he wanted to face someone he had never fought before. Further, he wanted to face someone who was on equal power level as he was. Elthas was armed with his delyn daggers that were also enchanted. Elthas would utilize those primarily for the battle. As he stood there, he thought, and his face was calm and relaxed. He thought about a great deal of matters, but the most important thought was this: the hour of battle had arrived.
The tallest spires of The Citadel reached many hundreds of meters to the sky.
Elthas couldn't see that high, but he had a mental image of what those tallest reaches must have looked like.
He often imagined a Concordian eagle soaring through the clouds and passing by the upper expanses of the huge structure. It was a mastery of modern architecture, a structure comprised by the finest architects of each of the known races of Althanas. In the true spirit of Corone, The Citadel existed. A testament to war and conflict, it was a safe haven for all. Elthas smoked the cannibus herb as he looked up and could see the trails of his smoke swirling skyward. It was a sweetly scented herb with many potent properties. His smoking pipe was dyed a cherry colour and was made out of a study oak. He looked up at The Citadel for a long moment, and then turned his attention back down to a more centered position of gravity. His eyes narrowed as he saw the massive front gates, always open, that would allow folks to do battle with one another in an arena of their choice.
Elthas stood in a completely relaxed posture.
It had been some time since the last time he'd graced The Citadel's various combat chambers.
He didn't have to re-register, Citadel records were always maintained in pristine conditions.
Elthas held his smoking pipe in one hand skillfully, he was finely dressed that day. Corone afternoons were considerably warmer than Salvar's were. Salvar was home those days. Not by choice, but by fate. Elthas had found a headquarters for his guild, and that was the key turning point in his life. Elthas looked away from The Citadel for a moment, as if looking back the way he came. The way back was Salvar. I am not afraid. He told himself. In fact, the truth was he was scared shitless. During the invasion of the fortress near Pestovo, hundreds died. Elthas had killed many Orcs and Goblins, his memories flashed back to that event. As if he were somehow frozen in time, unable to move on from that event.
Elthas felt the wind caressing his attire.
His long coat swirled with the breeze, the fabric was comfortable and definitely chosen for function. Those days, Elthas didn't believe in heavy armour for combat. He sacrificed heavy armour for stylish clothing that could be patched up on the fly. His fedora was ever present, and he wore that a a noticeable angle. It cast an ever present shadow across his handsome face. He appeared older those days too, platinum coloured hair ended at the small of his back. It was tied in an elegant ponytail. The hair atop his scalp was slicked and tight across his head. He wore a goatee those days and it was also platinum coloured. Somehow though, despite his five centuries of life, he appeared to be barely in his late thirties. Somewhat slightly older than that, but in his thirties none the less. He was a handsome old gentleman. Visible on his head were the infamous hyper developed ears of an Elf. Elthas had an angular face that made him appear somewhat younger looking than he actually was. He wore a three piece suit beneath his long coat, it was cut in Radasanth fashion and custom tailored for his physique. Elthas's sharp blue eyes held a wisdom in them. They weren't cold or evil, they had a sincerity to them and a noticeable kindness. Elthas walked over towards the reception area.
Several finely dressed monks of the order were present attending to the various combatants and their fans.
Elthas took a glance towards his competition, then back towards the reception area. One of the monks addressed him.
"You looking for a league competition?" The older looking Hume asked.
"I'm an entrant yes." Elthas carefully put out the embers of his smoking pipe and put his pipe in it's container.
The old man blinked twice as he looked at Elthas for a long moment. "You seem familiar to me." The old man said. "State your name, applicant."
"Elthas Belthasar." Elthas said calmly as he looked at the older man.
"Elthas, is that really you?" The old man must have been one of the younger handlers that dealt with Elthas a long time ago. "It's been a long time since the last time I saw you."
"Yeah I have been busy. Getting things in my life in order." Elthas adjusted his fedora.
"Your usual chamber then?" The old man asked.
"No. Just put me in a new chamber." Elthas said calmly. "Kind of want to take liberties with this battle anyway."
***
Chamber Number Nine was emblazoned with the specific number on it's surface.
It was written in common, and below it was written several variants in a few of the known Althanas tongues.
Elthas was already ready in the chamber, and the world was manifesting around him. As usual, the magic of the monks world-weaving impressed him.
And the chosen arena? A town of Elves, abandoned long ago. Houses built into the trees themselves, and only ghosts presents. Monsters walked around in the ruined town from time to time, but the main lay out was a myriad collection of sturdy oak trees. The lights of the village were out, and the village's name was long forgotten. The Elven architecture was prevalent in all aspects of the village. Elthas stood in the middle of the village, with the open doors to the outside world visible just ahead. The challenge was clear, he wanted to face someone he had never fought before. Further, he wanted to face someone who was on equal power level as he was. Elthas was armed with his delyn daggers that were also enchanted. Elthas would utilize those primarily for the battle. As he stood there, he thought, and his face was calm and relaxed. He thought about a great deal of matters, but the most important thought was this: the hour of battle had arrived.