Stÿx
04-07-06, 08:11 PM
Name: Lycus Eldrin Arcross
Pseudonym: Styx [The name adopted post-mortem]
Age: 19
Gender: Male
Race: Engúrel
Height: 5’11”
Marital Status: Soul Mate: Mallory Gervase Devereux
Description: Styx is, instantly recognizable, as incredibly handsome in a young, hairless quality. He has a well defined, but thin build that belies his strength unless you see him with his shirt off. His hair is white, and long enough to come down to his nose. With a soft quality, it often falls in front of his face and blocks his eyes. Those, his eyes, are something to be dealt with. Unlike any Engúrel, Styx has deep, bright purple eyes that almost glow with their brilliance. It is due to his Reincarnation that his hair has turned a whitish gray and his eyes fallen into the tiers beyond natural. On the back of his right wrist, the number 99 is printed in perfect, archaic hand. The ink used to tattoo it is Styx’s blood, and it will grow bright red before shifting to the appropriate number. The 99 is a countdown of how many souls are left to be collected before his contract is released and he is resurrected fully. On the top of the palm of that same hand is a runic circle divided into a heptagram. Inside each section of the heptagram is a tiny runic symbol. The entire design is in a deeper, darker blood red and is not made from his blood, and was put there when he was still alive. Whenever Styx casts a spell, the heptagram glows and a copy of it forms inside the palm of his hand, directly parallel from the original. Most of his spells, when not coming from Threnody, emerge from that diagram. It is called a Crucrix. As for his clothes, Styx wears a white dress-like shirt that only has one button at the top, which is left undone. The shirt has a light gray thorn-vine design following the curve of the collar, and a thicker thorn-vine design following the bottom rim of the shirt. On the back, there is a light gray design of a rose, with the thorn designs converging on it. The shirt is short-sleeved and has the same thorn design around the edge of the sleeves. Overtop the shirt, with the chain tucked under the collar, is a necklace that ends in a small charm, a black rose resting on the hilt of a blade, thorn vines wrapping around the rest of it. He also wears slightly baggy black pants that have a dark red thorn design around the bottom rim, very thick and thinning out as it approaches his upper shins. Styx never seems to wear shoes, and the bottoms of his feet have become incredibly hard because of this. There is a black tattoo of a similar thorn vine design wrapping around one ankle, hidden under his pant leg. His belt is basically a thick chain that has an ornate runic skull as a buckle in the center. The chain is off center, the left side coming up above his waist and the right side below. Under that is a black leather belt with skull impressions on it, interwoven with the same thorn design, impressed and lined with silver. The belt is attached to the buckle of the chain, and is tight instead of loose and oddly hanging. From the right side of his belt, a smaller chain runs into his pocket where a watch is kept. The watch has a puzzle-lid that is made of metal pieces which, when glanced at, form a rose, but are quite complex. Styx knows the pattern enough to open it in seconds, but it will take most people up to an hour to puzzle it out. Upon opening, the puzzle face splits in half and rotates to either side, like the wings of a beetle opening, and shows the face of the clock. At each of the 12 positions, there is a smaller clock dictating different times. To most knowledge people, these would be recognized as the time zones in different realms and countries. The 12th Hour time being the time in Death, which moves at a gradual pace. The design behind the clock face is a white Sakura tree petal. Lastly, on his neck, there is a small squiggly line, going from the halfway mark of the left side of his neck down to his collarbone. The line is in black ink, and has thorns in alternating intervals. It seems to be for decoration only, like the rest of the thorn designs.
Personality: Styx is always optimistic, kind of like an almost joking optimism. He never gives up, and is incredibly intelligent. He makes friends with people easily, and is very forgiving and incredibly kind, though he can come off as harsh at times for he tells the truth more often then anything else. In total, he is incredibly sweet, and acts the same around guys as he does around girls. It is also incredibly hard to anger him, but when you do, it is a rage to be reckoned with, though he always remains cool-headed in his thinking and doesn't do rash things. He believes in the conservation of life, the importance of living to life to the fullest, and will never kill anyone unless he has to. It is incredibly rare for him to make enemies, unless someone has conflicting opinions or is very close-minded. Thus, he is very open minded and ready for new opportunities and opinions. In a way, its obvious that he is not ‘straight’ because he has an attunement with beautiful things [people, nature, etc] and a poetic air to him at times, though he remains mischievously boyish and not really girly. Styx is also both a writer and a poet, and has learned acting skills.
Weapons:
Threnody: Threnody is a pitch-black scythe forged from the eternal souls of Styx’s victims. At the current, it is rather weak and comparable to iron, but it strengthens, sharpens, and becomes more powerful as more souls are piled into it. The weapon itself has a blade which boarders on dark green, instead of black, and when light is reflected off it, the light is transformed to a deep, almost black vermilion shade. When being wielded and swung at high speeds, the blade almost seems to trail a bloody aura. In fact, when blood is spilt on the blade it is instantly absorbed. The weapon is made from the essence of a Soul Reaper, so when a person is Marked, their soul is linked with the blade. Then, upon death, their soul is transferred into the weapon for later processing. At that time, the Death Count on Styx’s wrist will automatically change.
Armor: None.
Items:
Unfinished Tome: A book that hangs from his belt. There is chains are attached to the spine that wrap around the book, having no conceivable lock and can only be unlocked by a touch from Styx. It is his journal, and where he writes his stories and poems. The book has a very gothic design and is based on dark, brooding curves. The book is black leather, with dark gray metal edging.
Proficiencies:
-Scythemanship: The practice of wielding a scythe in battle. Styx is moderately proficient with his scythe, but as he never truly deeply trained in it, being more of a mage, he would most likely lose versus a warrior with a scythe.
- Poetry and Singing: A great quality voice that can reach almost any pitch and tone, and perfect for the Dirge songs. He is also good at poetry and writing.
Dirge: – The Dirge are the Death-Grant abilities that Styx had before his death, when he was a Black Cleric in the Black legion. Dirge magic relies on the manipulation of Blood, Death, and Spiritual Energy.
Silent Speak: This is an innate talent that allows him to speak to the Dead, but when he speaks to them nobody else will be able to hear his words unless they, also, can hear the dead. Styx does not need to be able to use his mouth to use Silent Speak, and thus can do so while paralyzed or silenced in some other way.
Threnody: Upon whispering the poem, the weapon Threnody will be summoned from its storage area in Death, materializing from blood red and black energy currents. Threnody cannot be summoned and returned in the same post, nor can it be used in the same post that it is summoned. Other then that, there are no limitations.
Deathly Benefits: When Styx signed the contract with the Nightmare, he acquired a few abilities he did not have before, and some of his earlier abilities were enhanced. All abilities listed after here are innate and passive.
Death Whisper: Whenever Styx is near dead, or Reapers, he can hear them speaking and they, in turn, can hear his thoughts.
Vision Beyond Breach: Along with his speaking to the dead, hearing the dead, Styx can also see the dead. However, he cannot yet see Reapers, and can only see a ‘wake’ of where they are and have been. The wake becomes more concentrated as it approaches their current location.
Fatal Precognition: Due to his nature and mission, Styx can know when someone nearby is going to die, but he cannot yet target ‘who’ it is. This is not an exact science, but he will know that somewhere, within a mile radius, someone is going to die in the next few hours. He knows this because the Reapers have a greater sense, and he can feel when one is nearby. Reapers are only present when someone is going to die, and they often trail that person for quite some time before their demise, since even they do not know the specifics.
The Soul Link: Due to having undergone a Soul Union with Mallory before dieing, Styx was able to enter life fully living and aware, by the grant of the Nightmare. As long as Mallory is alive, Styx will be alive, and his life depends on this. If Mallory dies, Styx will lose his link with life and fade back into the realm of Death, failing his mission and succumbing to his fate. Due to this link, Styx can always find Mallory, no matter where he is, by sense alone. When they are close together, Styx can also get a slight feel of Mal’s emotions, but only when they are powerful emotions. The closer they are, the greater this sense is. If Mallory gets severely injured, Styx will know instantly by an ethereal pang of pain in the same area. Mallory and Styx also are much better in combat and magic when together. [Not too greatly better, but enough to be noticed at this point.]
The Death Mark: As a part of his contract, Styx must Mark a victim before they die. This mark dictates not that they will die, for that is already known, but it will ensure both their death, and that the soul will be absorbed into Threnody for storage until his objective is complete. The Mark is painless, and cannot be seen by anyone other then Reapers and himself. All it takes to mark a victim is a touch, but it most be done while they are still alive, for it links with the soul. If a victim is not marked, then they will not die, however will still suffer all the injuries and may go into a vegetable state. If they must be marked after the incident, then they will instantly succumb to their injuries and fade off. If Styx does not mark them soon after, then the Reapers will come and relinquish the soul for themselves, though they have no quota to fill; their jealousy of Styx having their abilities, yet being alive, makes them want to disrupt his plans and get to the dead first.
History:
Mallory!
Soft, calming sounds blanketed the air. Weaving throughout the leaves and roses, swirling up against buds and diving down blades of grass. Wisps of smoke and light fluttered through the wind, spiraling into the streams and dipping into the seas of pollen between a flower’s petals. A naked boy lies, motionless, in a bed of the sweetest buds whose scent he had never before dreamed possible. All the memories, all the images and thoughts that had filled his mind only a moment before had been swept away by this scene. The roar of a nearby waterfall seemed to cloud his mind and lock within every emotion. The sensations that confronted his limits brought him to the edge of his threshold, unable to even stand or think out of confusion. Roaring, yet silent, moving, yet still, gentle, yet harsh, this place contradicted itself at every turn. As he looked into the sky, seeing a white petal fall from there and land on his chest, a wave of relief and relaxation washed over him. At that moment, all the overwhelming sensations pulled away, as if backing up in fear of this tiny petal. The mist lifted from his mind, and his eyes regained focus, staring around at the Sakura trees that surrounded the grove.
He found he was resting on a stone, his clothes the same untarnished white that he worn only moments before, yet now were perfectly clean and seemed crisper then he thought possible. Around him, water rushed, brushing one of his hands that lay in the water. Glancing at it, he suddenly screamed, watching in horror as the Crucrix did the most unbelievable thing he could imagine. It washed off. The tattoo that he had personally engraved into his hand, sealed with magic so that it healed with his skin, was turning to dust to flow off into the stream before his very eyes. Ripping his hand out, he touched the spot and found nothing but a faint light area on his palm where the Crucrix used to be. It was gone.
Standing up, suddenly very afraid of this mystifying water, he surveyed his surroundings closely. Near him was another rock, and the semblance to stepping-stones cropped up from his imagination. Leaping to the next, and then the following, doing so for quite a while before reaching the edge if the lake, he now stood on a path. Seeming to be tended, instead of worn down by feel, this place was not as calm as the waterfall-surrounded lake. Minute whispers come in to him from every angle, too low and fluctuating too rapidly to be caught as to what they spoke of, but the speakers themselves could not be found. A long shudder quivered through his body before his mind let him push forward, walking down the path between endless Sakura trees.
“Where…am I?”
The all-time favorite question of people whom wake up in strange forests left his mouth before he realized the idiocy of it. There was nobody here to answer him, but yet, as the question came out, the whispers got louder, and finally he heard one word shout out to him from those voices.
Death!
It was a vocal strain of ambiguous gender, roaring above the others for only a moment then falling back into the rolling wave of whispers. Spinning around to ensure that he was, in fact, alone, and the results depressed him. On the path he had come from, though only a few steps had been taken so far, was an endless forest of sakura trees –at least, he thought they were sakuras- parted by a perfectly trimmed sand path. The lake, stepping-stones, and waterfalls were gone. At that moment, a gust blew through and he calmly turned again to continue his walk, yet this place deceived him once more. Before him, where there had been an endless path before now lay an enormous building resembling a cathedral. Unlike any cathedral he had ever seen, this place had neither windows nor any religious insignia. The front gate was littered with bits and pieces of chains, and the floor around it held the rest of those very same chains. Though they hadn’t yet been spread out, it showed that the doors were never opened since the point in which the debris was placed there.
With a calm stride, though a false once for his nerves were absolutely shot, he approached the door. Upon touching it, a white light shot through the door, coating his vision in whiteness for a moment, then faded. Once again, this odd realm had done well on confusing him for now he stood inside a chamber that resembled a church only in the ways it didn’t matter. This place was not a place of worship, and definitely not intended to receive guests. Where there would be rows upon rows of wooden chairs, empty space reigned, flanked by tall columns that held up only the darkness, for the roof could not be seen. At the forefront of the building, a tall, blank-faced statue stood over the altar. Featureless, it resembled a human, though worn even if it had never seen the light of day. The floor was comprised of a marble so clear that it seemed to be a single glass sheet protecting this world from its mirror image…but not from him. For, as his gaze slowly lowered, he saw at his feet endless space reflected above him, but not his own image. Another shrill shudder ran through his body and he fell to one knee, painfully, as the shudder centered itself on his back and amplified. Reaching to touch the spot, wetness received his hand, revealed to be thick, dripping blood once he brought his hand back. With a gasp, he wiped his hand on his pants, not taking time to notice that the stain evaporated immediately.
Bursting forward, towards the statue, he fell again, skidding to his knees, as another jolt burst through his back. As he watched the ground, a small girl watched him back, standing before him, but only on the mirror side. He spoke one phrase, before a droplet of blood fell from the boy’s gushing wound and landed on the mirror-faced marble. Find me.
The instant the droplet landed, a liquid ripple spread through the marble, plunging it into a tenebrous hue of red. Memories came rushing back as the ripple expanded, washing away the image on the marble and replacing it with darkness.
= = = ~ <<>> ~ = = =
“Stop you three! We only want to talk to you!”
“Hahaha, so that’s why you drew your swords and lit your arrows! To talk! Oh, if that’s the case, I guess I can say some words of my own!”
Lycus laughed as he reached out, taking in the sweeping vision of the army that stood before him. They were escaping, running from the Ezephellion whom they had recently raided. They were, of course, quite mad at the display we had left behind, one of their larger military camps completely leveled. It must have peeved them to know that it took only three Black Legionnaires to destroy three years of work. Though he chuckled, Lycus’ was dead serious as he prepared himself. Thousands stood in ready, drawing arrows and pulling swords, and he dared not harm a single one. With an arcing gesture before him, a black sphere formed, larger then his body and floating unnaturally above the ground. Made from a combination of darkness and tar, yet did not drip, the sphere rippled once as he reached out and touched it with the Crucrix on his palm. Projecting to the opposite side of the sphere, the giant Crucrix glowed red, amplified by the spell. Finally, he shouted his words, releasing its dark power.
“Ghast Breath!”
Withdrawing my hand, then slamming it into the ball open palmed, the sphere exploded outwards. Forming hundreds of thousands of small black arrows, each arcing high into the air before slamming into the ground again far away from me. Like a wave of darkness, each tiny bolt produced an enormous explosion that shook the ground, black flames burning everything with twenty feet of the spot. Perfectly aimed, the bolts ended just feet from the first Ezephellion, the one whom had so arrogantly spoken. It was Lycus’ duty to protect Riptide and Tempest, and he would do just that. However, he was wont to take lives in the process unless forced to. Watching the black flames consume the ground before them, cutting the army off from their escape, he turned back to the shocked Tempest and Rip. He had kept his true powers secret for a long time, and both thought him weak and ignorant in the practice of magic, among the lower of the Black Clerics. In truth, the spell he had just performed was high above the ability of the greatest Black Cleric alive today, and they both knew this. Suddenly both fearful and in awe of his abilities, he grinned then shouted at them to run, leading the way.
As Lycus took a few steps, he suddenly whispered, “Goodbye, Mallory.” Followed by a sharp thud in his back. An Ezephellion Black Cleric had shot a killing arrow into Lycus’ back, destroying him instantly. The scream of Mallory echoed through the air as Lycus fell, dropping to the ground in a heap. They knew they had to go on and leave him here, the scythe that was a source of his power unraveling, due to being shaped by Lycus’ energies. Leaving the scene, Tempest pulled Rip past, reaching beyond the distance of the archers and going farther, in case one of their Clerics managed to subdue to dark flames. He was dead, they both knew, but neither knew why Mallory had not died with him. Only a wrongful death could refrain a Soul Bound mate from following their mate into death.
= = = ~ <<>> ~ = = =
“Lycus…I am Lycus…I died. Why…how…where…what is going on? Is this the afterlife? Hehe, it’s really quite a glum place to be called afterlife. You’d think when someone lived a life so grandly virtuous as mine; they’d at least give me the top-floor suite! Now, now, let me find whomever runs this joint so I can request an upgrade!”
As if the words summoned back his personality, the perky optimism formed once more in his mind. Standing, not allowing his memories to pain him, Lycus reached back and wiped the blood off his back, gratified that in death pain was truly temporary. After this motion, however, the ground gave way beneath him and he fell into the bloody darkness.
When next he could see, Lycus stood on a small platform surrounded on all sides by blood red roses. Of a lighter shade then the stained vermilion of the cathedral, these roses were quite pleasant. That is, if one could manage to ignore the devilishly dangerous thorn vines that choked out vision of the floor and all the walls. Luckily, his dais kept him safe from those vicious thorns, and he made careful note that only the vines on the floor contained roses, whilst the rest were bare though thick. Before him, a giant square curtain rotated in the air, moving by its own violation in a steady and rhythmic turning. The corners did not reach the floor, though it was huge, for the chamber was larger. As he looked closely, the middle of the turning black cloth suddenly pressed outwards, forming a face that resembled human. Nose, mouth, cheeks, chin, yet the eyes were voids that did not press the cloth out, yet sucked it in.
Then, the mouth moved, the steady turning of the cloth emphasizing each syllable for the face did not follow its movements.
“Lycus Arcross. You are dead.”
“Really? Oh, that’s lovely. Personally, I thought I was still alive and there had been a mix-up. Oh well, can I go to my lovely fields of happiness now?”
“No, because there was a mistake. A Reaper disturbed the process of death, and you died whilst you should not of. I give you one chance at redemption, and thereafter, reincarnation. Do you accept?”
Lycus was about to accept openly, then stopped short, holding up a finger. With a grin, he asked;
“What are the terms of this deal?”
The thing remained emotionless, and responded with the same dark voice. Nothing phased it.
“The contract entails several clauses, the first of which is that you must take ninety-nine souls in order to restore the balance of death through which you have made a ripple. The second is that you must have a link in which to attach yourself to life once more.”
Lycus definitely liked the sound of this, though how he would manage to take souls was beyond him. In life, he had the ability to control spiritual energy, but very little could trap a soul, let alone ninety-nine. “And when I complete this task, if I manage to, I will be returned to how I was the moment before I died, correct?”
“Yes.”
“I agree, then.”
The devilish thing shuddered, and lower down in the cloth a hand reached out. It was a long bony hand, still covered in the cloth which wasn’t seeming to be effected by its presence. Any normal fabric would have to have its edges move in as something pressed though, but this cloth rotated steadily, as if nothing was happening. When the hand reached the dais, the palm spread out into what appeared to be a tablet, and on that a metal necklace lay. It was a sword, wrapped in thorn vines with a rose resting on its hilt. Taking the necklace and putting it on, Lycus turned to the creature as it spoke again, the hand withdrawing.
“There is one last clause I must make you aware of…”
When he finished, Lycus’ face was pale, worried that this would be the one part of the deal that would stop him from being able to complete it. He couldn’t do that, of all things, he wouldn’t do that. His thoughts swam as the creature explained the Reapers and the powers he would be granted, including Threnody. Then, when he explained that the Reapers called him the Nightmare, Lycus was unsurprised by the choice of name. It told him to choose a pseudonym to use on the surface world, incase any previous associates came in contact with his name. Lycus quickly spoke one.
“Styx.”
“Styx, it is time for you to rise again then.”
With that, the conversation ended, for a white light slammed into the dais. Blinding him and removing all sensations, Lycus was suddenly gone.
= = > < = =
In the realm through which titans and heroes walk, a boy entered again. Black energies swirled up, blasting into the sky then falling back down again, revealing the Sorrower –the term by which the Nightmare had dubbed him. Standing near a pond very much unlike the lake in Death, Styx pulled off his silver ring and stared at it. It was the trademark of the Engúrel, and, being as he was no longer a part of that deceitful faction, he turned and began walking away. A moment after turning, his mind was made up, and he chucked the ring lazily backwards, listening to the glomp issued by the pond swallowing it up. His life was all but new, except for one thing. For one person…
“Mallory.”
Pseudonym: Styx [The name adopted post-mortem]
Age: 19
Gender: Male
Race: Engúrel
Height: 5’11”
Marital Status: Soul Mate: Mallory Gervase Devereux
Description: Styx is, instantly recognizable, as incredibly handsome in a young, hairless quality. He has a well defined, but thin build that belies his strength unless you see him with his shirt off. His hair is white, and long enough to come down to his nose. With a soft quality, it often falls in front of his face and blocks his eyes. Those, his eyes, are something to be dealt with. Unlike any Engúrel, Styx has deep, bright purple eyes that almost glow with their brilliance. It is due to his Reincarnation that his hair has turned a whitish gray and his eyes fallen into the tiers beyond natural. On the back of his right wrist, the number 99 is printed in perfect, archaic hand. The ink used to tattoo it is Styx’s blood, and it will grow bright red before shifting to the appropriate number. The 99 is a countdown of how many souls are left to be collected before his contract is released and he is resurrected fully. On the top of the palm of that same hand is a runic circle divided into a heptagram. Inside each section of the heptagram is a tiny runic symbol. The entire design is in a deeper, darker blood red and is not made from his blood, and was put there when he was still alive. Whenever Styx casts a spell, the heptagram glows and a copy of it forms inside the palm of his hand, directly parallel from the original. Most of his spells, when not coming from Threnody, emerge from that diagram. It is called a Crucrix. As for his clothes, Styx wears a white dress-like shirt that only has one button at the top, which is left undone. The shirt has a light gray thorn-vine design following the curve of the collar, and a thicker thorn-vine design following the bottom rim of the shirt. On the back, there is a light gray design of a rose, with the thorn designs converging on it. The shirt is short-sleeved and has the same thorn design around the edge of the sleeves. Overtop the shirt, with the chain tucked under the collar, is a necklace that ends in a small charm, a black rose resting on the hilt of a blade, thorn vines wrapping around the rest of it. He also wears slightly baggy black pants that have a dark red thorn design around the bottom rim, very thick and thinning out as it approaches his upper shins. Styx never seems to wear shoes, and the bottoms of his feet have become incredibly hard because of this. There is a black tattoo of a similar thorn vine design wrapping around one ankle, hidden under his pant leg. His belt is basically a thick chain that has an ornate runic skull as a buckle in the center. The chain is off center, the left side coming up above his waist and the right side below. Under that is a black leather belt with skull impressions on it, interwoven with the same thorn design, impressed and lined with silver. The belt is attached to the buckle of the chain, and is tight instead of loose and oddly hanging. From the right side of his belt, a smaller chain runs into his pocket where a watch is kept. The watch has a puzzle-lid that is made of metal pieces which, when glanced at, form a rose, but are quite complex. Styx knows the pattern enough to open it in seconds, but it will take most people up to an hour to puzzle it out. Upon opening, the puzzle face splits in half and rotates to either side, like the wings of a beetle opening, and shows the face of the clock. At each of the 12 positions, there is a smaller clock dictating different times. To most knowledge people, these would be recognized as the time zones in different realms and countries. The 12th Hour time being the time in Death, which moves at a gradual pace. The design behind the clock face is a white Sakura tree petal. Lastly, on his neck, there is a small squiggly line, going from the halfway mark of the left side of his neck down to his collarbone. The line is in black ink, and has thorns in alternating intervals. It seems to be for decoration only, like the rest of the thorn designs.
Personality: Styx is always optimistic, kind of like an almost joking optimism. He never gives up, and is incredibly intelligent. He makes friends with people easily, and is very forgiving and incredibly kind, though he can come off as harsh at times for he tells the truth more often then anything else. In total, he is incredibly sweet, and acts the same around guys as he does around girls. It is also incredibly hard to anger him, but when you do, it is a rage to be reckoned with, though he always remains cool-headed in his thinking and doesn't do rash things. He believes in the conservation of life, the importance of living to life to the fullest, and will never kill anyone unless he has to. It is incredibly rare for him to make enemies, unless someone has conflicting opinions or is very close-minded. Thus, he is very open minded and ready for new opportunities and opinions. In a way, its obvious that he is not ‘straight’ because he has an attunement with beautiful things [people, nature, etc] and a poetic air to him at times, though he remains mischievously boyish and not really girly. Styx is also both a writer and a poet, and has learned acting skills.
Weapons:
Threnody: Threnody is a pitch-black scythe forged from the eternal souls of Styx’s victims. At the current, it is rather weak and comparable to iron, but it strengthens, sharpens, and becomes more powerful as more souls are piled into it. The weapon itself has a blade which boarders on dark green, instead of black, and when light is reflected off it, the light is transformed to a deep, almost black vermilion shade. When being wielded and swung at high speeds, the blade almost seems to trail a bloody aura. In fact, when blood is spilt on the blade it is instantly absorbed. The weapon is made from the essence of a Soul Reaper, so when a person is Marked, their soul is linked with the blade. Then, upon death, their soul is transferred into the weapon for later processing. At that time, the Death Count on Styx’s wrist will automatically change.
Armor: None.
Items:
Unfinished Tome: A book that hangs from his belt. There is chains are attached to the spine that wrap around the book, having no conceivable lock and can only be unlocked by a touch from Styx. It is his journal, and where he writes his stories and poems. The book has a very gothic design and is based on dark, brooding curves. The book is black leather, with dark gray metal edging.
Proficiencies:
-Scythemanship: The practice of wielding a scythe in battle. Styx is moderately proficient with his scythe, but as he never truly deeply trained in it, being more of a mage, he would most likely lose versus a warrior with a scythe.
- Poetry and Singing: A great quality voice that can reach almost any pitch and tone, and perfect for the Dirge songs. He is also good at poetry and writing.
Dirge: – The Dirge are the Death-Grant abilities that Styx had before his death, when he was a Black Cleric in the Black legion. Dirge magic relies on the manipulation of Blood, Death, and Spiritual Energy.
Silent Speak: This is an innate talent that allows him to speak to the Dead, but when he speaks to them nobody else will be able to hear his words unless they, also, can hear the dead. Styx does not need to be able to use his mouth to use Silent Speak, and thus can do so while paralyzed or silenced in some other way.
Threnody: Upon whispering the poem, the weapon Threnody will be summoned from its storage area in Death, materializing from blood red and black energy currents. Threnody cannot be summoned and returned in the same post, nor can it be used in the same post that it is summoned. Other then that, there are no limitations.
Deathly Benefits: When Styx signed the contract with the Nightmare, he acquired a few abilities he did not have before, and some of his earlier abilities were enhanced. All abilities listed after here are innate and passive.
Death Whisper: Whenever Styx is near dead, or Reapers, he can hear them speaking and they, in turn, can hear his thoughts.
Vision Beyond Breach: Along with his speaking to the dead, hearing the dead, Styx can also see the dead. However, he cannot yet see Reapers, and can only see a ‘wake’ of where they are and have been. The wake becomes more concentrated as it approaches their current location.
Fatal Precognition: Due to his nature and mission, Styx can know when someone nearby is going to die, but he cannot yet target ‘who’ it is. This is not an exact science, but he will know that somewhere, within a mile radius, someone is going to die in the next few hours. He knows this because the Reapers have a greater sense, and he can feel when one is nearby. Reapers are only present when someone is going to die, and they often trail that person for quite some time before their demise, since even they do not know the specifics.
The Soul Link: Due to having undergone a Soul Union with Mallory before dieing, Styx was able to enter life fully living and aware, by the grant of the Nightmare. As long as Mallory is alive, Styx will be alive, and his life depends on this. If Mallory dies, Styx will lose his link with life and fade back into the realm of Death, failing his mission and succumbing to his fate. Due to this link, Styx can always find Mallory, no matter where he is, by sense alone. When they are close together, Styx can also get a slight feel of Mal’s emotions, but only when they are powerful emotions. The closer they are, the greater this sense is. If Mallory gets severely injured, Styx will know instantly by an ethereal pang of pain in the same area. Mallory and Styx also are much better in combat and magic when together. [Not too greatly better, but enough to be noticed at this point.]
The Death Mark: As a part of his contract, Styx must Mark a victim before they die. This mark dictates not that they will die, for that is already known, but it will ensure both their death, and that the soul will be absorbed into Threnody for storage until his objective is complete. The Mark is painless, and cannot be seen by anyone other then Reapers and himself. All it takes to mark a victim is a touch, but it most be done while they are still alive, for it links with the soul. If a victim is not marked, then they will not die, however will still suffer all the injuries and may go into a vegetable state. If they must be marked after the incident, then they will instantly succumb to their injuries and fade off. If Styx does not mark them soon after, then the Reapers will come and relinquish the soul for themselves, though they have no quota to fill; their jealousy of Styx having their abilities, yet being alive, makes them want to disrupt his plans and get to the dead first.
History:
Mallory!
Soft, calming sounds blanketed the air. Weaving throughout the leaves and roses, swirling up against buds and diving down blades of grass. Wisps of smoke and light fluttered through the wind, spiraling into the streams and dipping into the seas of pollen between a flower’s petals. A naked boy lies, motionless, in a bed of the sweetest buds whose scent he had never before dreamed possible. All the memories, all the images and thoughts that had filled his mind only a moment before had been swept away by this scene. The roar of a nearby waterfall seemed to cloud his mind and lock within every emotion. The sensations that confronted his limits brought him to the edge of his threshold, unable to even stand or think out of confusion. Roaring, yet silent, moving, yet still, gentle, yet harsh, this place contradicted itself at every turn. As he looked into the sky, seeing a white petal fall from there and land on his chest, a wave of relief and relaxation washed over him. At that moment, all the overwhelming sensations pulled away, as if backing up in fear of this tiny petal. The mist lifted from his mind, and his eyes regained focus, staring around at the Sakura trees that surrounded the grove.
He found he was resting on a stone, his clothes the same untarnished white that he worn only moments before, yet now were perfectly clean and seemed crisper then he thought possible. Around him, water rushed, brushing one of his hands that lay in the water. Glancing at it, he suddenly screamed, watching in horror as the Crucrix did the most unbelievable thing he could imagine. It washed off. The tattoo that he had personally engraved into his hand, sealed with magic so that it healed with his skin, was turning to dust to flow off into the stream before his very eyes. Ripping his hand out, he touched the spot and found nothing but a faint light area on his palm where the Crucrix used to be. It was gone.
Standing up, suddenly very afraid of this mystifying water, he surveyed his surroundings closely. Near him was another rock, and the semblance to stepping-stones cropped up from his imagination. Leaping to the next, and then the following, doing so for quite a while before reaching the edge if the lake, he now stood on a path. Seeming to be tended, instead of worn down by feel, this place was not as calm as the waterfall-surrounded lake. Minute whispers come in to him from every angle, too low and fluctuating too rapidly to be caught as to what they spoke of, but the speakers themselves could not be found. A long shudder quivered through his body before his mind let him push forward, walking down the path between endless Sakura trees.
“Where…am I?”
The all-time favorite question of people whom wake up in strange forests left his mouth before he realized the idiocy of it. There was nobody here to answer him, but yet, as the question came out, the whispers got louder, and finally he heard one word shout out to him from those voices.
Death!
It was a vocal strain of ambiguous gender, roaring above the others for only a moment then falling back into the rolling wave of whispers. Spinning around to ensure that he was, in fact, alone, and the results depressed him. On the path he had come from, though only a few steps had been taken so far, was an endless forest of sakura trees –at least, he thought they were sakuras- parted by a perfectly trimmed sand path. The lake, stepping-stones, and waterfalls were gone. At that moment, a gust blew through and he calmly turned again to continue his walk, yet this place deceived him once more. Before him, where there had been an endless path before now lay an enormous building resembling a cathedral. Unlike any cathedral he had ever seen, this place had neither windows nor any religious insignia. The front gate was littered with bits and pieces of chains, and the floor around it held the rest of those very same chains. Though they hadn’t yet been spread out, it showed that the doors were never opened since the point in which the debris was placed there.
With a calm stride, though a false once for his nerves were absolutely shot, he approached the door. Upon touching it, a white light shot through the door, coating his vision in whiteness for a moment, then faded. Once again, this odd realm had done well on confusing him for now he stood inside a chamber that resembled a church only in the ways it didn’t matter. This place was not a place of worship, and definitely not intended to receive guests. Where there would be rows upon rows of wooden chairs, empty space reigned, flanked by tall columns that held up only the darkness, for the roof could not be seen. At the forefront of the building, a tall, blank-faced statue stood over the altar. Featureless, it resembled a human, though worn even if it had never seen the light of day. The floor was comprised of a marble so clear that it seemed to be a single glass sheet protecting this world from its mirror image…but not from him. For, as his gaze slowly lowered, he saw at his feet endless space reflected above him, but not his own image. Another shrill shudder ran through his body and he fell to one knee, painfully, as the shudder centered itself on his back and amplified. Reaching to touch the spot, wetness received his hand, revealed to be thick, dripping blood once he brought his hand back. With a gasp, he wiped his hand on his pants, not taking time to notice that the stain evaporated immediately.
Bursting forward, towards the statue, he fell again, skidding to his knees, as another jolt burst through his back. As he watched the ground, a small girl watched him back, standing before him, but only on the mirror side. He spoke one phrase, before a droplet of blood fell from the boy’s gushing wound and landed on the mirror-faced marble. Find me.
The instant the droplet landed, a liquid ripple spread through the marble, plunging it into a tenebrous hue of red. Memories came rushing back as the ripple expanded, washing away the image on the marble and replacing it with darkness.
= = = ~ <<>> ~ = = =
“Stop you three! We only want to talk to you!”
“Hahaha, so that’s why you drew your swords and lit your arrows! To talk! Oh, if that’s the case, I guess I can say some words of my own!”
Lycus laughed as he reached out, taking in the sweeping vision of the army that stood before him. They were escaping, running from the Ezephellion whom they had recently raided. They were, of course, quite mad at the display we had left behind, one of their larger military camps completely leveled. It must have peeved them to know that it took only three Black Legionnaires to destroy three years of work. Though he chuckled, Lycus’ was dead serious as he prepared himself. Thousands stood in ready, drawing arrows and pulling swords, and he dared not harm a single one. With an arcing gesture before him, a black sphere formed, larger then his body and floating unnaturally above the ground. Made from a combination of darkness and tar, yet did not drip, the sphere rippled once as he reached out and touched it with the Crucrix on his palm. Projecting to the opposite side of the sphere, the giant Crucrix glowed red, amplified by the spell. Finally, he shouted his words, releasing its dark power.
“Ghast Breath!”
Withdrawing my hand, then slamming it into the ball open palmed, the sphere exploded outwards. Forming hundreds of thousands of small black arrows, each arcing high into the air before slamming into the ground again far away from me. Like a wave of darkness, each tiny bolt produced an enormous explosion that shook the ground, black flames burning everything with twenty feet of the spot. Perfectly aimed, the bolts ended just feet from the first Ezephellion, the one whom had so arrogantly spoken. It was Lycus’ duty to protect Riptide and Tempest, and he would do just that. However, he was wont to take lives in the process unless forced to. Watching the black flames consume the ground before them, cutting the army off from their escape, he turned back to the shocked Tempest and Rip. He had kept his true powers secret for a long time, and both thought him weak and ignorant in the practice of magic, among the lower of the Black Clerics. In truth, the spell he had just performed was high above the ability of the greatest Black Cleric alive today, and they both knew this. Suddenly both fearful and in awe of his abilities, he grinned then shouted at them to run, leading the way.
As Lycus took a few steps, he suddenly whispered, “Goodbye, Mallory.” Followed by a sharp thud in his back. An Ezephellion Black Cleric had shot a killing arrow into Lycus’ back, destroying him instantly. The scream of Mallory echoed through the air as Lycus fell, dropping to the ground in a heap. They knew they had to go on and leave him here, the scythe that was a source of his power unraveling, due to being shaped by Lycus’ energies. Leaving the scene, Tempest pulled Rip past, reaching beyond the distance of the archers and going farther, in case one of their Clerics managed to subdue to dark flames. He was dead, they both knew, but neither knew why Mallory had not died with him. Only a wrongful death could refrain a Soul Bound mate from following their mate into death.
= = = ~ <<>> ~ = = =
“Lycus…I am Lycus…I died. Why…how…where…what is going on? Is this the afterlife? Hehe, it’s really quite a glum place to be called afterlife. You’d think when someone lived a life so grandly virtuous as mine; they’d at least give me the top-floor suite! Now, now, let me find whomever runs this joint so I can request an upgrade!”
As if the words summoned back his personality, the perky optimism formed once more in his mind. Standing, not allowing his memories to pain him, Lycus reached back and wiped the blood off his back, gratified that in death pain was truly temporary. After this motion, however, the ground gave way beneath him and he fell into the bloody darkness.
When next he could see, Lycus stood on a small platform surrounded on all sides by blood red roses. Of a lighter shade then the stained vermilion of the cathedral, these roses were quite pleasant. That is, if one could manage to ignore the devilishly dangerous thorn vines that choked out vision of the floor and all the walls. Luckily, his dais kept him safe from those vicious thorns, and he made careful note that only the vines on the floor contained roses, whilst the rest were bare though thick. Before him, a giant square curtain rotated in the air, moving by its own violation in a steady and rhythmic turning. The corners did not reach the floor, though it was huge, for the chamber was larger. As he looked closely, the middle of the turning black cloth suddenly pressed outwards, forming a face that resembled human. Nose, mouth, cheeks, chin, yet the eyes were voids that did not press the cloth out, yet sucked it in.
Then, the mouth moved, the steady turning of the cloth emphasizing each syllable for the face did not follow its movements.
“Lycus Arcross. You are dead.”
“Really? Oh, that’s lovely. Personally, I thought I was still alive and there had been a mix-up. Oh well, can I go to my lovely fields of happiness now?”
“No, because there was a mistake. A Reaper disturbed the process of death, and you died whilst you should not of. I give you one chance at redemption, and thereafter, reincarnation. Do you accept?”
Lycus was about to accept openly, then stopped short, holding up a finger. With a grin, he asked;
“What are the terms of this deal?”
The thing remained emotionless, and responded with the same dark voice. Nothing phased it.
“The contract entails several clauses, the first of which is that you must take ninety-nine souls in order to restore the balance of death through which you have made a ripple. The second is that you must have a link in which to attach yourself to life once more.”
Lycus definitely liked the sound of this, though how he would manage to take souls was beyond him. In life, he had the ability to control spiritual energy, but very little could trap a soul, let alone ninety-nine. “And when I complete this task, if I manage to, I will be returned to how I was the moment before I died, correct?”
“Yes.”
“I agree, then.”
The devilish thing shuddered, and lower down in the cloth a hand reached out. It was a long bony hand, still covered in the cloth which wasn’t seeming to be effected by its presence. Any normal fabric would have to have its edges move in as something pressed though, but this cloth rotated steadily, as if nothing was happening. When the hand reached the dais, the palm spread out into what appeared to be a tablet, and on that a metal necklace lay. It was a sword, wrapped in thorn vines with a rose resting on its hilt. Taking the necklace and putting it on, Lycus turned to the creature as it spoke again, the hand withdrawing.
“There is one last clause I must make you aware of…”
When he finished, Lycus’ face was pale, worried that this would be the one part of the deal that would stop him from being able to complete it. He couldn’t do that, of all things, he wouldn’t do that. His thoughts swam as the creature explained the Reapers and the powers he would be granted, including Threnody. Then, when he explained that the Reapers called him the Nightmare, Lycus was unsurprised by the choice of name. It told him to choose a pseudonym to use on the surface world, incase any previous associates came in contact with his name. Lycus quickly spoke one.
“Styx.”
“Styx, it is time for you to rise again then.”
With that, the conversation ended, for a white light slammed into the dais. Blinding him and removing all sensations, Lycus was suddenly gone.
= = > < = =
In the realm through which titans and heroes walk, a boy entered again. Black energies swirled up, blasting into the sky then falling back down again, revealing the Sorrower –the term by which the Nightmare had dubbed him. Standing near a pond very much unlike the lake in Death, Styx pulled off his silver ring and stared at it. It was the trademark of the Engúrel, and, being as he was no longer a part of that deceitful faction, he turned and began walking away. A moment after turning, his mind was made up, and he chucked the ring lazily backwards, listening to the glomp issued by the pond swallowing it up. His life was all but new, except for one thing. For one person…
“Mallory.”