Curse

Strife · Apr 30, 2005, 06:20 PM // 18:20

OOC:

This is a closed thread designed to simply introduce my character. If you have any comments, questions, or criticisms, feel free to post them here or contact me in game.

IC:

Rain fell steadily from dark, angry clouds, covering the Lakeside County in a cold, shimmering veil. The small woodland creatures that had ventured out into the open to forage for food had retreated back into their homes to weather out the storm. The once calm rivers were transformed into dangerous rapids, the lakes that had been so placid and peaceful with the rising sun now crashing against the shores with all of their might. Lightning flashed against the sky, illuminating the broiling heavens with awe inspiring explosions. Thunder rumbled and cracked, daring those in hiding to tread upon the earth beneath it.

Guards stood hunched underneath the arches of Ascalon's gates, grim faces set as they waited for the grueling weather to pass. Rain whipped their exposed skin, the wind battering their bodies against the cold stone in heaving torrents. Neither guard spoke, for their voices would have been drowned out by the menacing thunder. Both kept their eyes on the road ahead, knowing that a threat may brave the storm in order to strike under the cover of nature's wrath. However, it was not a Charr, bristling with claws and fangs, nor a skale, a nuisance to the region, that charged the gates. In fact, it was not a creature at all.

It was a man. He was running with all of his might against the howling winds and the stinging rain, arms pumping at his sides, seeming oblivious to the raging elements about him. The two guards stood alert, their weapons raised, not knowing what to expect of the dark figure as he drew ever nearer. His mouth was open in a silent scream as he closed the distance between himself and the guards, his eyes wide with fear. Suddenly, his chest shot forward and his knees buckled, hands clawing the air as he tumbled face first into the muddy road. The guards stood dumbfounded, straining to peer through the blanket of rain at the fallen man.

Finally, one of the guards struck out from the cover of the gate, shield raised in an attempt to protect himself from the pummel of rain. When he reached the man, half buried in mud, his shocked expression changed to disbelief. Protruding from the man's spine was the shaft of an arrow, the head of which was buried deep into the fallen corpse.

Whether it was a curse or a prayer that left the guard's lips, it was swiftly carried away by the howling winds.

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The following morning, the sun had managed to pierce the dark skies, casting beams of light through the tempered clouds. Where the light struck, it was obvious how strong the storm had truely been. A few trees lay on their sides, toppled by the powerful winds, while the trunks of others were splintered or twisted. The lakes and rivers had returned to their peaceful state, though they now carried within them the debri of fallen trees, pieces of fence, and everything else that had been uprooted with the storm.

The corpse of the man that had been slain the previous night had been taken and buried. No one had recognized him, and he had been wearing nothing that could have marked him. Adorned with a simple brown tunic and leather pants, he carried no signets or rings that could have identified him. The guards were talking amongst themselves over a stale mugs of ale near the gates, pondering over the mystery of how the man could have been struck by an arrow in the middle of such a storm.

"'Twas the strangest thing I ev'r saw," grunted the guard who had first come upon the dead man. "One moment 'e was runnin' to the gates like a man set on fire, and the next, 'e was layin' in the mud just 'afore the gates." The second guard nodded, remaining silent as he stared into his mug.

"Well," said another, hefting his heavy shield once more onto his shoulder, "the only explanation readily available is magic. I've heard of 'storm wizards' being able to throw projectiles through an air elemental without its course being altered." The other guards shrugged and nodded their agreements, though the second guard still looked bemused. Noticing his partner's grim attitude, the first elbowed him in the side.

"What's gotten' into ye', eh? Haven't said a word since last night."

The second guard merely shrugged, turning his troubled gaze through the gates and across the road into the woods of Lakeside County. "What elementalist would wield a bow in such a manner?" The simple statement hung in the air, weighing down on the others. They simply shrugged it off as their call came about, turning them all back to their duties.

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Deep within the Lakeside county, a single figure, concealed with a simple brown traveller's cloak, made his way through the wooded hills. A bow was strapped to his back, along with a quiver full of arrows. Aside from these obvious items, the man appeared unarmed. The hood had been drawn, casting shadows against his features. Though he moved cautiously, it was obvious he was accustomed to such travel, his steps measured out with confidence, his frame carried with an eminating strength.

The man's slightly sun browned skin appeared in patches along his arms. Leather armor creaked quietly against the silence of the forest, the only other noise coming from the wet, dripping leaves and the small creatures coming out from their dens to take in the new day. The figure stopped, his slender but strong frame remainingly motionless as he stood next to a large tree, staring out into the open fields of Lakeside County. After a few moments of watching, the man slowly drew back his hood to better take in the view.

Cold, blue eyes that could have frozen the lakes below him drank in every detail, the only emotion escaping them being a grim determination. Shadows from the treetops above seemed to cling to his frame. The strands of dark blond hair that escaped the lazy knots tied behind his head fell across his cold, chiseled features.Strong arms folded across his thick chest as he stared down at Ascalon.

He was Ray Strife, an assassin and mercenary of his own making. While others boasted of powerful magics or unrivaled talents with the sword, Ray rarely spoke at all. He cared little of how his talents matched others. All that mattered to him was that he was able to accomplish his charges and collect his bounties. While he skirted most civilizations, preferring only to come into contact with others when he needed work, he had travelled far and seen much.

Ray had taught himself how to use a plethora of weapons, though he seemed to favor the bow that was fastened to his back. He had been blessed with a talent for magic, though he was no where near as strong as many of the elementalists that showed their talents off with abandon. However, he had learned how to tap into the element of air, channeling the small magical tendrils from his body into his weapons. That had aided him in bringing down his prey before it had reached the gates. It was how he had escaped unnoticed.

Death is all he knows.

It was how he lived... How he still lives.

Strife · May 02, 2005, 03:03 AM // 03:03

A hot wind blew across the wasteland that had once teemed with life, scattering a few pieces of dead shrubbery. Rustic dust and dead, twisted black trees that extended their claw like branches to the scorched skies added to the forboding atmosphere. Fear and desolation reigned supreme here, touching the hearts of those daring enough to step into these forsaken lands.

It had been two years since the Charr had called down fire from the heavens in what was known now as the Searing, destroying the country side and laying waste to the city of Ascalon. Scores of unwary men and women had been slain in an instant, while others had been killed while trying to flee the onslaught. Those that had managed to survive that fateful day were constantly harrowed by the Charr and other ruthless creatures, all seemingly bent on tearing their already frail civilization to shreds.

A pair of cold, blue eyes stared warily across the barren rocky landscape, strands of rebellious blond hair caressing his face as the winds whistled about him. Ray Strife, one of the few survivors of that horrible attack, stood perched atop a small rocky ledge not fifty meters from the broken walls of Ascalon. The remaining troops of the fallen city had managed to force their way back into the deserted city, fortifying themselves in what Ray considered a death trap. However, as his fate was bound to those of his fellow man, he decided it best to fight along side them as opposed to watching them be exterminated.

He leaned his weight against his bow, listening silently. There had been reports of a small band of Charr scouting the walls, probably for weak spots in which to attack. Every time a dispatch was sent to deter them, they had dissapeared. It was peculiar behaviour, which made everyone all the more nervous. Ray had overheard the reports and decided to investigate for himself. He had come alone, as he normally did, his only companion his bow, a sturdy short sword, and his magic.

Ray squinted his eyes, his sharp vision detecting a slight movement beyond a craggy pile of rocks. A brief flicker of shadows was all it took for Ray to notice, his slender form already making its way down the small hill from which he was perched. Once he was on level ground, he began to make his way stealthily towards the section of broken wall where he had spotted movement. Gripping his bow and setting his jaw in firm determination, the mercenary turned hunter stalked his prey.

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Ray stood with his back to a jagged wall of rock, listening quietly to the gutteral voices of the Charr behind him. They were lowered, obviously attempting to avoid detection. He hadn't seen them, but he had managed to pick out three different voices. Charr were notoriously hard to kill, and were even more difficult in packs. He didn't like the odds. But he had the element of surprise, which may serve to tip the scales in his favor. Silently, he made his way around the wall of boulders, taking cautious steps as he climbed atop the rust colored rocks to get a better vantage point of his enemy.

Up on his perch, he was a good ten feet above the Charr. He had been correct; there were three of them, all heavily armored and armed with wicked looking axes. However, Ray was more concerned about their elongated teeth and claws, which would tear a man to pieces. Muscle bound bodies bristled as they moved, straining against the plate armor that covered them. They were mere grunts, footmen of the Charr ranks, but they were more than a match for a man.

Luckily, Ray had never considered himself a simple man.

Raising himself quietly to one knee, with his leather armor not making a single creak of protest, the Ranger knocked an arrow in his bow. Carefully, he chose a target, the largest of the three Charr who seemed to be barking and growling the most. Drawing a bead on the assumed leader, Ray waited for a brief moment. The winds seemed to die down expectantly, and time itself seemed to freeze.

With a loud twang, Ray loosed an arrow. It soared through the air and slammed into the Charr's exposed neck, burying its shaft deep within the beasts flesh and muscle. The injured creature howled in surprise and agony, clawing at the arrow as he stumbled back. The bow had barely snapped off the first shot when Ray was loading the second arrow. However, now the other two were alert, spinning around, weapons raised. They noticed the Ranger almost instantly, eyes reflecting a hatred so deep that they matched Ray's cold intensity with malice.

Ray fired off a second shot, scoring a powerful but non-terminal strike on the second Charr's flank. It stumbled, but regained its footing and charge along side the other. Though they couldn't reach Ray from the front, they quickly circled the small rocky ledge and began ascending to his perch. This put them only five meters from where Ray was, cutting his only way off. They had corned him. He raised his bow, taking aim and snapping off another shot. This one burried itself into the wounded Charr's eye, sending it sprawling off of the small rocky outcrop, howling and screaming with such ferocity that it would have made any man's blood turn to ice.

The last Charr was nearly upon Ray now, with the other two still writhing beneath them. The first would die soon, but the second was still capable. Setting aside his bow, Ray lept to his feet and whipped out his sword just as the Charr's axe came crashing down, deflecting it before it bit down into his leather armor. He had little room to manuever, and the Charr bore down on him with its overpowering strength, forcing Ray to one knee. Scowling, the Ranger reached deep within himself, calling upon his magic.

He could feel the magic burning deep within him, at first no more than a simple spark, then a buring liquid fire that coursed through his veins. The Charr raised its axe once more, intending to finish off the lone human who had dared attack them. Ray took the opportunity to raise a hand, pressing it against the beasts thick armored stomach. Instantly, there was a crackling sound, followed by a brief explosion as lightning coursed from Ray's hand to the Charr's body. The force of the magical blast sent the attacker realing, stumbling backwards, the smell of burnt metal and charred fur reaching Ray's nostrils.

Standing, the hunter took up his bow once more and knocked it with another arrow. Sighting down its shaft at the stunned Charr, he called upon his magic once more. The arrow seemed to crackle with energy, small bolts of electricity coursing along its narrow body.

"Catch."

The arrow flew forward like a lightning bolt, burning through the front of the Charr and piercing through the back armor, burying itself with a small explosion into the rocks behind it, charring the ground into blackened coal. The beast stood stunned for a moment, a clawed hand falling to the hole in its stomach before collapsing.

The first Charr was in its final death throws, thrashing wildly on the ground as it gasped and gurgled for its final breaths. The second was in a dying rage, having regained its footing, the arrow still protruding from its eye, blood coursing down its face, staining its fur and teeth. Ray raised a hand, feeling the magic course through him once more as energy flew from his fingertips and slammed into the wounded Charr, felling it onto its back once more. He knocked another arrow and let it loose, followed by another, then another, riddling the fallen beast with arrows. Finally, it stopped writhing, lying dead in a pool of its own blood.

Ray stood, the silence that followed the final dying beasts last shriek as forboding as the hot, fear filled winds that followed. Death was heavy in the air, seeping into the rocks just as the blood that stained the earth did. He stepped over the corpses and made his way back to the gates. He felt drained; he was not as adept as using magic as pure users of the art were. It took a lot out of him to call upon his talent so much.

The figure dissapeared into the ruined walls, not once casting a glance over his shoulder at the fallen bodies of his hated enemies.