Post by Draken on Oct 5, 2007 20:23:59 GMT -8
.__{{T H E Writer
.Name. (A.K.A) Draken
.Age. 16
.Activity. OVERactive (I just about live on these forums)
.Experience. 4+ years
.Contact Info. Monokomana@hotmail.com
.__{{T H E Character
.Name. Draken Chronalis (Though he seldom mentions his last name, few know it)
.Nickname. None.
.Age. 15
.Birthday. May 17
Race: Malangelus, translated into "Evil Angel", is the name appointed to Draken's infamous race. The Malengeli didn't like this name because it stressed their bad reputation, which they tried to contain within their ranks. They were known to cause trouble in neighboring areas, and they lived closest to the elves in ancient Alyssus. Not all Malengeli were bad, though. Most devoted their lives to their tribes, striving to build 'perfect' utopias in the treetops toward the heavens they longed to be a part of. Myths often say they built tall towers and floating structures before some migrated to the war-torn Alyssus from distant unknown lands. Their efforts to build these 'utopias', or even a functional village, never succeeded in Alyssus...
History does not recall their exact creation except that they are a fairly ancient, quickly dying race, and very rare in Alyssus. They have no recorded evidence of ever calling themselves anything, until they arrived to Alyssus where they were given their name. There are theories, though. Some say they were an accidental creation from a war of the 'good' and 'evil' gods. Others say they were purposly put here to balance the forces of good and evil. However, it is known for a fact their blood is similar to both that of the demons and of the celestials. A variety of different skills and magics were used by them that only angels and demons were supposed to know how to do. They aren't immortal, but they lived to be around 190 years. The Malengeli themselves just wanted to be left alone and sent expeditions out to search for a place they could live in peace. Their efforts were in vain. Especially in Alyssus.
Their most distinguishing physical feature is their celestial wings on their back. Their teeth, which are more appropriately described as 'fangs', show off their demonic heritage along with nails (claws would be a better term) and cat-like eyes.
Allegiance: Serves King Osirus.
Profession/Rank: King Osirus' page, doing all his evil bidding, mostly assassination(s).
.Hair. Straight, medium length, and usually unkempt. At first glance, it appears black, but it is actually a deep violet, giving Draken a rather outlandish look (as if the eyes and wings weren't enough).
.Eyes. Deep amber eyes with slit pupils much like a cat that contrast against his lilac eyelids and darkened eyesockets.
.Physical Description. Just from his physical outline, it is obvious which 'side' Draken is on. He portrays an overall skulking but youthful appearance.
His usual attire consists of some tattered pants and shirt, always black or faded into a dark shade of grey. Two large holes are ripped in the back of his shirts to make way for a pair of large, raven-black angel wings. When he is sneaking about, he protects himself with black leather pads against his chest, shoulders, and knees. The leather is lightweight for stealth issues but relatively strong in case he is caught. Bracers along his arms and legs made of thin metal plates placed on thicker leather provide armor for where he might need it most; If he must flee, he can do so on uninjured limbs. His lithe, nimble body stands 5' 1" from the ground. For melee, he carries a shortsword and dagger sheathed on his left and right side, their blades engraved with angelic and demonic runes, and many balanced throwing knives most of which are hidden under his cloak or along his belt. For further stealth and protection against cool weather, he wears a large black hooded cloak which the musty smell of dried blood usually clings to after a kill.
Beneath the dark, threadbare strips of linen his skin is chalk-white and eerily cold to the touch. All along his body are etched many scars- evidence of the wrath from the violent King. On his chest lies a complex group of blue markings, which seem to be a combonation of angelic and demonic language, that is part of a mysterious unliftable curse on his entire race's blood.
.Picture.
.Celebrity Portrayal. -None-
.__{{T H E Thoughts
.Likes.
A good meal every once in a while. His daily rations consist of dried meat, a slice of peasants' bread, cheese wedge, and an apple along with some cheap ale which keeps him warm in his dank room Osirus provides.
Death. But only if he's causing it.
A formidable opponent. Killing the weaklings grows repetitive after a while.
Forests. Large, dark, misty forests. Often a good, quiet place to go after a fight to meditate on his thoughts.
Darkness. Ever since Draken took the path of an assassin, the cover of nightfall has given him thoughts of confidence and security.
His solitude. Draken likes to just be left alone most of the time.
.Dislikes.
King Osirus' constant threats to beat him if he is reluctant to obey his orders.
Elves. He still holds a grudge on their race.
Humans. Draken thinks all humans are simply foolish, pathetic creatures.
The Order. According to Osirus, The Order gave the elves permission to attack Draken's village.
The small room in the castle that Osirus allows him. It's too close to the Blood Chamber...
.Goals.
To leave King Osirus for good.
His second goal, which is more of a dream, to wipe out the elven race.
.Fears.
Large groups of enemy soldiers.
Dragons. Dragons have always haunted his childhood dreams from stories and tall-tales told around his hometown.
His own death.
The Blood Chamber. Enough said.
King Osirus. Draken knows all too well what King Osirus can do when he's angry, through both observation and personal experience.
Being captured and/or tortured for the same reasons.
.Personality. Draken's small frame, attire black as his heart, and overall appearance speaks for itself.
Draken had once been 'good', his thoughts residing in the optimistic light of the angels. He was raised this way. His parents taught him everything he knew, including how to fight but this was mandatory for all young boys in his hometown. The elves' attack on the village caused a sudden change of heart for the worse.
Now his mind resides in the darkness and cruelty of that demon blood within him. He keeps mostly to himself silently, unless he is called on by King Osirus. He's not completely unapproachable to the other members of Kind Osirus' legion, but there's no guarantee he'll talk much. However, he will socialize every once in a while just to be polite. He can be quite kind at times for an assassin, but while on duty his heart is hard and pitiless. While under Osirus' command, he developed an uncontrollable desire to kill, and the smell of blood often sends him into a frenzy if he is healthy enough to move.
-But somewhere inside him still beats the heart of a weakened angel. All hope may not be lost for him. Though, like most adolescents, he can be quite stubborn.
.__{{T H E Fairytale
.Family.
.Father. Adrammelech Chronalis- A skilled fighter who taught Draken what he knows about combat. (deceased)
.Mother. Seria Chronalis- Draken's caring mother who fought and died alongside her husband. (deceased)
.Siblings. -none-
.History. Draken grew up with a small Malangelus tribe in the village of Notos on the northern edge of Alyssus, near the elves' main settlements. For a few decades, they coexisted rather peacefully without much conflict.
As fairly new settlers in Alyssus, they knew little about it. They attempted to build their 'perfect' village for years. Living near the mountains, they were secluded from the war and poverty going on around them. Draken was born into this peaceful world, and for thirteen years that's the way he was taught- that the world was supposed to be 'perfect'.
As a child, he grew up without many peers his age but helped a lot around the village and got to know the adults. There was Lauren; the lady who always had some little ducklings to feed, Belize; who always had some new sculpture of some sort outside his house, and Oh! Old Lady Solstice as the older kids called her, always had her summer pies and steaming winter cakes to give away to all of Notos. All these people that he knew, he cared for dearly as if they were his own siblings. Draken lived a very peaceful childhood, still much too young to understand his parents' worried discussions about their kind stealing from neighboring villages.
Adrammelech, Draken's father, was captain of the militia established in Notos. He managed to keep peace with the elves regardless of the attacks, and from what Draken remembers, the elves understood that not all Malangeli were bad. Little by little, Draken began to undesrtand the risk these rogues ran against their people as he aged and his father constantly came home discussing the situations with Seria, Draken's mother. At age thirteen, Draken began combat training for the militia. Of course, he would not be required to fight until his training was completed five years later. He chose to train with smaller, faster weapons. However- training was cut short after only a month.
That's when it all began to decline for Draken. That's when the elves suddenly launched a violent attack early one morning against the village of Notos. People were slain left and right, sparing no one. The militia barely had time to defend against the attack so wound up evacuating as many as they could. The elves, being excellent natural marksmen, shot many down when they tried to fly away.
Draken had never seen, or even imagined anything like this could happen having been brought up in such a seemingly peaceful place. He and his mother were forced to hide in someone elses' home overthrown by fear; elves standing just outside made it risky to leave. Adrammelech came for them, killing both elves standing at the door and the family ran through the dirt road towards the outskirts of town- it was dangerous to take flight when there could be sharpshooters anywhere.
Once the outskirts were reached, though, their worst fear was realized- the elves were waiting for escapees to take flight. It was a risk they had to take unless they gave their lives to the elves...They had to escape Notos, or die trying. Adrammelch took Draken in his arms and Seria tried to follow, but was immediately shot down moments later. All Draken had to remember his mother's last moments then, was a blood-curdling scream, a distinct figure of a cruel barbed arrow through her heart, then a sickening thud ...
Adrammelech made it safely to a secret refuge with Draken still wrapped up in his arms, sobbing, as the sun rose on a bloody morning. But unfortunately, his father was wounded in combat and his future looked grim. Draken spent the rest of the day with the refugees in silence. He knew none of them, assuming only that all he cared about was gone. Except his father. That night, he was allowed to visit him in the medic tent only to discover that he was dying from a powerful toxin in his system. His last words to his son- ' Choose carefully which path you tread. "
Now it was all gone.
Frustrated and lost, it felt as if an emotional hole had been ripped through him. After raised up on so much peace and happiness, how could he lose it all in a single day? He wandered through the forest on foot at times and others on wing, despite the danger of elves still hunting them. Time slipped away from him, fatigue and hunger were no longer factors as he pondered in a sort of trance to find some hidden meaning in his father's dying words. Before he realized, he had wandered several miles from his refugee camp, but another settlement was in view.
It was almost dawnbreak once more after a tiresome day with no sleep and it was beginning to take its toll on his young body. He wandered the streets of this city until the sun broke through the thin clouds that hinted a gathering storm. It was Du Aurella, the capital. It looked just like discriptions in the few stories he heard telling of mythical places in Alyssus aside from Notos. Soon, he found himself treading the path just outside the outermost castle gates, staring with awe at the great structure that towered over the entire city like a sentinel. For a few days, he lived in the streets and practiced combat and pickpocketing and other dark arts.
Then he learned to kill.
The third person he killed in the capital happened right in the streets where everyone could see just to prove he was a threat- Osirus happened to be among them. It was a bread merchant he had tortured right there in the street before finally granting him death. City guards quickly surrounded and overpowered him but just as they were about to end him, Osirus stopped them, clearly seeing an opportunity for an easy free servant. They made a deal; food, a room, and his life to be spared in exchange for his services to the King. A more than generous offer...
When Osirus first took Draken under his wing two years ago, he gave in to every command without hesitation or retaliation. Anyone that needed to be killed...anything that needed to be stolen. Until he got a grip on reality. He began to learn about the world around him, what was going on in the war. When he asked Osirus, which he then thought of as a fatherly figure to him, he simply told him that the Order of Lumen were horrible, wicked people and they all had to be gone for Alyssus to be peaceful. According to Osirus, THEY were the ones that gave the order to the elves to kill his people back in Notos, weeks ago.
Throughout his services over a year, he had killed no women at all. One dreary afternoon, Osirus gave the order to murder a wife and child of one of the Order's warriors. They were evacuating their village at midnight so it had to be done before then. He geared up like it was a normal assignment, and headed out. By the time he got there, they were already just getting out of the house and fled to a caravan where her husband waited. As he perched, waiting until she was just feet away from the caravan, he had a sudden involuntary flashback of his escape from Notos- and losing his mother to the elven scum...
He returned to Osirus empty-handed and simply confessed that he would not kill women or children. For the first time, he feared the King when he shook with anger then deftly tugged a mace from one of his bodyguards' hands and beat Draken right there in the middle of the throne room. He remembers the sickening crack as each bone broke almost drowned out by his screams, the blood pooling around him, then being thrown against the wall when he tried to stand and lost conciousness. When he woke, he was in a small room on a lump of hay serving as a bed. There was a single candle in the room, but that's all it needed, really. It was an estimated 8' by 10' room, consisting only of the bed and a small bookshelf and trunk for storage. The room smelled of dust and blood- but not only his own. Tortured screams could be heard very distantly and were very muffled, but he could hear them all the same. This room was near the Blood Chamber. Draken was still very injured and the floor and 'matress' were stained with blood. He observed the cruel conditons of the room- then realized all this things had been moved in. This was his new room.
After recovering in only a week with a kind nurse's help, Draken confronted his spiteful King once and immediately began taking orders once more. His outlook on Osirus had indeed changed...He was now a figure of fear, not hospitality. The rations he recieved daily remained the same amount and quality, but he was relocated to an abandoned nook...
Perhaps this is the way he should live from now on. Every night, he had nightmares about the night Osirus showed his true colors and nearly left him to die. ' Choose carefully which path you tread '...His fathers dying words echoed. Is this what he meant? Is this the path Draken was supposed to avoid ? What did fate have in store for him...Pain? Purity? Death? Or was this the right path, so he could take revenge on those who took away his perfect world...
The screams of the tortured lured him like a grim lullaby into a troubled, tormented slumber.
.__{{T H E End
.Role Play Sample. "Over here! The trail of blood- He went this way!"
"Split up into your groups!"
The distant cries of the men echoed through the forest, the sound of their footsteps through the snow led away from Draken's hiding place in the trees. ' Fools '
The organized hunting group was now out of Draken's auditory range. That was his cue. His black wings spread out to land on the ground with less force and immediately took off sprinting towards the mostly abandoned village for salvage. He would never try this trick with the elves. They were too aware. Too cautious... Too organized and everywhere at once. Draken shuddered at the thought of being overpowered by that piteous race.
A few guards remained in town, nothing Draken couldn't handle. He prowled the allyways like a cat stalking its prey, trained eyes looking for the exact moment to dart to the next hidden vantage point. A guard turned away in a slow steady gait, his chainmail clacking slightly against light metal plates. Draken prepared to prowl out into the cold, wet street. The goal here was to slip unnoticed by the guards and into the keep to murder an elven captain.
Shafts of silver moonlight penetrated through fissures in the clouds and struck the fresh-fallen snow, giving it a regal blue radiance. The entire village was coated in a blanket of snow, disturbed only by the guards patrolling the streets like a hawk. The absence of snow in the streets made it easier to cross it without being seen. With the guards's back turned, it was the perfect time to cross. Skilled feet took him noiselessly across without problems- until about halfway into the street where his boot broke through a frozen puddle. As inaudible as it sounded, the guard turned around regardless. Now, he could make out the watchman in detail under the moonlight; A set of flawless features perched upon a perfect, gaunt figure with long, sleek hair the color of the moon itself.
This was no man- it was an elf. His steel grey eyes locked with Draken's and they exchanged glares for what seemed like minutes, but in reality it was only a split second. Then their blades had locked together furiously which sended several loud clashes resonating throughout the town.
"Draken, is it?" The elf asked as their blades were caught in a deadlock.
He did not answer.
"I know you can speak, boy," The elf's silky voice echoed.
"I am, you damn elf," Draken replied through gritted teeth.
"That's Captain to you, you cur," he hissed.
The elf's elegant sword pushed Draken's away with ease each time. He was much stronger than Draken- but Draken was faster and after several minutes of fierce combat, fatigue began to set in on this elf. Draken feigned left, then swung in a large arc across his chest from the right. Betrayed by his natural grace, the elf cried out heralding his defeat to the night.
.How did you find this site? Neopets. Right after I posted a 'looking for forum' thread, I clicked 'refresh' and this one just happened to be on the top board
.Name. (A.K.A) Draken
.Age. 16
.Activity. OVERactive (I just about live on these forums)
.Experience. 4+ years
.Contact Info. Monokomana@hotmail.com
.__{{T H E Character
.Name. Draken Chronalis (Though he seldom mentions his last name, few know it)
.Nickname. None.
.Age. 15
.Birthday. May 17
Race: Malangelus, translated into "Evil Angel", is the name appointed to Draken's infamous race. The Malengeli didn't like this name because it stressed their bad reputation, which they tried to contain within their ranks. They were known to cause trouble in neighboring areas, and they lived closest to the elves in ancient Alyssus. Not all Malengeli were bad, though. Most devoted their lives to their tribes, striving to build 'perfect' utopias in the treetops toward the heavens they longed to be a part of. Myths often say they built tall towers and floating structures before some migrated to the war-torn Alyssus from distant unknown lands. Their efforts to build these 'utopias', or even a functional village, never succeeded in Alyssus...
History does not recall their exact creation except that they are a fairly ancient, quickly dying race, and very rare in Alyssus. They have no recorded evidence of ever calling themselves anything, until they arrived to Alyssus where they were given their name. There are theories, though. Some say they were an accidental creation from a war of the 'good' and 'evil' gods. Others say they were purposly put here to balance the forces of good and evil. However, it is known for a fact their blood is similar to both that of the demons and of the celestials. A variety of different skills and magics were used by them that only angels and demons were supposed to know how to do. They aren't immortal, but they lived to be around 190 years. The Malengeli themselves just wanted to be left alone and sent expeditions out to search for a place they could live in peace. Their efforts were in vain. Especially in Alyssus.
Their most distinguishing physical feature is their celestial wings on their back. Their teeth, which are more appropriately described as 'fangs', show off their demonic heritage along with nails (claws would be a better term) and cat-like eyes.
Allegiance: Serves King Osirus.
Profession/Rank: King Osirus' page, doing all his evil bidding, mostly assassination(s).
.Hair. Straight, medium length, and usually unkempt. At first glance, it appears black, but it is actually a deep violet, giving Draken a rather outlandish look (as if the eyes and wings weren't enough).
.Eyes. Deep amber eyes with slit pupils much like a cat that contrast against his lilac eyelids and darkened eyesockets.
.Physical Description. Just from his physical outline, it is obvious which 'side' Draken is on. He portrays an overall skulking but youthful appearance.
His usual attire consists of some tattered pants and shirt, always black or faded into a dark shade of grey. Two large holes are ripped in the back of his shirts to make way for a pair of large, raven-black angel wings. When he is sneaking about, he protects himself with black leather pads against his chest, shoulders, and knees. The leather is lightweight for stealth issues but relatively strong in case he is caught. Bracers along his arms and legs made of thin metal plates placed on thicker leather provide armor for where he might need it most; If he must flee, he can do so on uninjured limbs. His lithe, nimble body stands 5' 1" from the ground. For melee, he carries a shortsword and dagger sheathed on his left and right side, their blades engraved with angelic and demonic runes, and many balanced throwing knives most of which are hidden under his cloak or along his belt. For further stealth and protection against cool weather, he wears a large black hooded cloak which the musty smell of dried blood usually clings to after a kill.
Beneath the dark, threadbare strips of linen his skin is chalk-white and eerily cold to the touch. All along his body are etched many scars- evidence of the wrath from the violent King. On his chest lies a complex group of blue markings, which seem to be a combonation of angelic and demonic language, that is part of a mysterious unliftable curse on his entire race's blood.
.Picture.
.Celebrity Portrayal. -None-
.__{{T H E Thoughts
.Likes.
A good meal every once in a while. His daily rations consist of dried meat, a slice of peasants' bread, cheese wedge, and an apple along with some cheap ale which keeps him warm in his dank room Osirus provides.
Death. But only if he's causing it.
A formidable opponent. Killing the weaklings grows repetitive after a while.
Forests. Large, dark, misty forests. Often a good, quiet place to go after a fight to meditate on his thoughts.
Darkness. Ever since Draken took the path of an assassin, the cover of nightfall has given him thoughts of confidence and security.
His solitude. Draken likes to just be left alone most of the time.
.Dislikes.
King Osirus' constant threats to beat him if he is reluctant to obey his orders.
Elves. He still holds a grudge on their race.
Humans. Draken thinks all humans are simply foolish, pathetic creatures.
The Order. According to Osirus, The Order gave the elves permission to attack Draken's village.
The small room in the castle that Osirus allows him. It's too close to the Blood Chamber...
.Goals.
To leave King Osirus for good.
His second goal, which is more of a dream, to wipe out the elven race.
.Fears.
Large groups of enemy soldiers.
Dragons. Dragons have always haunted his childhood dreams from stories and tall-tales told around his hometown.
His own death.
The Blood Chamber. Enough said.
King Osirus. Draken knows all too well what King Osirus can do when he's angry, through both observation and personal experience.
Being captured and/or tortured for the same reasons.
.Personality. Draken's small frame, attire black as his heart, and overall appearance speaks for itself.
Draken had once been 'good', his thoughts residing in the optimistic light of the angels. He was raised this way. His parents taught him everything he knew, including how to fight but this was mandatory for all young boys in his hometown. The elves' attack on the village caused a sudden change of heart for the worse.
Now his mind resides in the darkness and cruelty of that demon blood within him. He keeps mostly to himself silently, unless he is called on by King Osirus. He's not completely unapproachable to the other members of Kind Osirus' legion, but there's no guarantee he'll talk much. However, he will socialize every once in a while just to be polite. He can be quite kind at times for an assassin, but while on duty his heart is hard and pitiless. While under Osirus' command, he developed an uncontrollable desire to kill, and the smell of blood often sends him into a frenzy if he is healthy enough to move.
-But somewhere inside him still beats the heart of a weakened angel. All hope may not be lost for him. Though, like most adolescents, he can be quite stubborn.
.__{{T H E Fairytale
.Family.
.Father. Adrammelech Chronalis- A skilled fighter who taught Draken what he knows about combat. (deceased)
.Mother. Seria Chronalis- Draken's caring mother who fought and died alongside her husband. (deceased)
.Siblings. -none-
.History. Draken grew up with a small Malangelus tribe in the village of Notos on the northern edge of Alyssus, near the elves' main settlements. For a few decades, they coexisted rather peacefully without much conflict.
As fairly new settlers in Alyssus, they knew little about it. They attempted to build their 'perfect' village for years. Living near the mountains, they were secluded from the war and poverty going on around them. Draken was born into this peaceful world, and for thirteen years that's the way he was taught- that the world was supposed to be 'perfect'.
As a child, he grew up without many peers his age but helped a lot around the village and got to know the adults. There was Lauren; the lady who always had some little ducklings to feed, Belize; who always had some new sculpture of some sort outside his house, and Oh! Old Lady Solstice as the older kids called her, always had her summer pies and steaming winter cakes to give away to all of Notos. All these people that he knew, he cared for dearly as if they were his own siblings. Draken lived a very peaceful childhood, still much too young to understand his parents' worried discussions about their kind stealing from neighboring villages.
Adrammelech, Draken's father, was captain of the militia established in Notos. He managed to keep peace with the elves regardless of the attacks, and from what Draken remembers, the elves understood that not all Malangeli were bad. Little by little, Draken began to undesrtand the risk these rogues ran against their people as he aged and his father constantly came home discussing the situations with Seria, Draken's mother. At age thirteen, Draken began combat training for the militia. Of course, he would not be required to fight until his training was completed five years later. He chose to train with smaller, faster weapons. However- training was cut short after only a month.
That's when it all began to decline for Draken. That's when the elves suddenly launched a violent attack early one morning against the village of Notos. People were slain left and right, sparing no one. The militia barely had time to defend against the attack so wound up evacuating as many as they could. The elves, being excellent natural marksmen, shot many down when they tried to fly away.
Draken had never seen, or even imagined anything like this could happen having been brought up in such a seemingly peaceful place. He and his mother were forced to hide in someone elses' home overthrown by fear; elves standing just outside made it risky to leave. Adrammelech came for them, killing both elves standing at the door and the family ran through the dirt road towards the outskirts of town- it was dangerous to take flight when there could be sharpshooters anywhere.
Once the outskirts were reached, though, their worst fear was realized- the elves were waiting for escapees to take flight. It was a risk they had to take unless they gave their lives to the elves...They had to escape Notos, or die trying. Adrammelch took Draken in his arms and Seria tried to follow, but was immediately shot down moments later. All Draken had to remember his mother's last moments then, was a blood-curdling scream, a distinct figure of a cruel barbed arrow through her heart, then a sickening thud ...
Adrammelech made it safely to a secret refuge with Draken still wrapped up in his arms, sobbing, as the sun rose on a bloody morning. But unfortunately, his father was wounded in combat and his future looked grim. Draken spent the rest of the day with the refugees in silence. He knew none of them, assuming only that all he cared about was gone. Except his father. That night, he was allowed to visit him in the medic tent only to discover that he was dying from a powerful toxin in his system. His last words to his son- ' Choose carefully which path you tread. "
Now it was all gone.
Frustrated and lost, it felt as if an emotional hole had been ripped through him. After raised up on so much peace and happiness, how could he lose it all in a single day? He wandered through the forest on foot at times and others on wing, despite the danger of elves still hunting them. Time slipped away from him, fatigue and hunger were no longer factors as he pondered in a sort of trance to find some hidden meaning in his father's dying words. Before he realized, he had wandered several miles from his refugee camp, but another settlement was in view.
It was almost dawnbreak once more after a tiresome day with no sleep and it was beginning to take its toll on his young body. He wandered the streets of this city until the sun broke through the thin clouds that hinted a gathering storm. It was Du Aurella, the capital. It looked just like discriptions in the few stories he heard telling of mythical places in Alyssus aside from Notos. Soon, he found himself treading the path just outside the outermost castle gates, staring with awe at the great structure that towered over the entire city like a sentinel. For a few days, he lived in the streets and practiced combat and pickpocketing and other dark arts.
Then he learned to kill.
The third person he killed in the capital happened right in the streets where everyone could see just to prove he was a threat- Osirus happened to be among them. It was a bread merchant he had tortured right there in the street before finally granting him death. City guards quickly surrounded and overpowered him but just as they were about to end him, Osirus stopped them, clearly seeing an opportunity for an easy free servant. They made a deal; food, a room, and his life to be spared in exchange for his services to the King. A more than generous offer...
When Osirus first took Draken under his wing two years ago, he gave in to every command without hesitation or retaliation. Anyone that needed to be killed...anything that needed to be stolen. Until he got a grip on reality. He began to learn about the world around him, what was going on in the war. When he asked Osirus, which he then thought of as a fatherly figure to him, he simply told him that the Order of Lumen were horrible, wicked people and they all had to be gone for Alyssus to be peaceful. According to Osirus, THEY were the ones that gave the order to the elves to kill his people back in Notos, weeks ago.
Throughout his services over a year, he had killed no women at all. One dreary afternoon, Osirus gave the order to murder a wife and child of one of the Order's warriors. They were evacuating their village at midnight so it had to be done before then. He geared up like it was a normal assignment, and headed out. By the time he got there, they were already just getting out of the house and fled to a caravan where her husband waited. As he perched, waiting until she was just feet away from the caravan, he had a sudden involuntary flashback of his escape from Notos- and losing his mother to the elven scum...
He returned to Osirus empty-handed and simply confessed that he would not kill women or children. For the first time, he feared the King when he shook with anger then deftly tugged a mace from one of his bodyguards' hands and beat Draken right there in the middle of the throne room. He remembers the sickening crack as each bone broke almost drowned out by his screams, the blood pooling around him, then being thrown against the wall when he tried to stand and lost conciousness. When he woke, he was in a small room on a lump of hay serving as a bed. There was a single candle in the room, but that's all it needed, really. It was an estimated 8' by 10' room, consisting only of the bed and a small bookshelf and trunk for storage. The room smelled of dust and blood- but not only his own. Tortured screams could be heard very distantly and were very muffled, but he could hear them all the same. This room was near the Blood Chamber. Draken was still very injured and the floor and 'matress' were stained with blood. He observed the cruel conditons of the room- then realized all this things had been moved in. This was his new room.
After recovering in only a week with a kind nurse's help, Draken confronted his spiteful King once and immediately began taking orders once more. His outlook on Osirus had indeed changed...He was now a figure of fear, not hospitality. The rations he recieved daily remained the same amount and quality, but he was relocated to an abandoned nook...
Perhaps this is the way he should live from now on. Every night, he had nightmares about the night Osirus showed his true colors and nearly left him to die. ' Choose carefully which path you tread '...His fathers dying words echoed. Is this what he meant? Is this the path Draken was supposed to avoid ? What did fate have in store for him...Pain? Purity? Death? Or was this the right path, so he could take revenge on those who took away his perfect world...
The screams of the tortured lured him like a grim lullaby into a troubled, tormented slumber.
.__{{T H E End
.Role Play Sample. "Over here! The trail of blood- He went this way!"
"Split up into your groups!"
The distant cries of the men echoed through the forest, the sound of their footsteps through the snow led away from Draken's hiding place in the trees. ' Fools '
The organized hunting group was now out of Draken's auditory range. That was his cue. His black wings spread out to land on the ground with less force and immediately took off sprinting towards the mostly abandoned village for salvage. He would never try this trick with the elves. They were too aware. Too cautious... Too organized and everywhere at once. Draken shuddered at the thought of being overpowered by that piteous race.
A few guards remained in town, nothing Draken couldn't handle. He prowled the allyways like a cat stalking its prey, trained eyes looking for the exact moment to dart to the next hidden vantage point. A guard turned away in a slow steady gait, his chainmail clacking slightly against light metal plates. Draken prepared to prowl out into the cold, wet street. The goal here was to slip unnoticed by the guards and into the keep to murder an elven captain.
Shafts of silver moonlight penetrated through fissures in the clouds and struck the fresh-fallen snow, giving it a regal blue radiance. The entire village was coated in a blanket of snow, disturbed only by the guards patrolling the streets like a hawk. The absence of snow in the streets made it easier to cross it without being seen. With the guards's back turned, it was the perfect time to cross. Skilled feet took him noiselessly across without problems- until about halfway into the street where his boot broke through a frozen puddle. As inaudible as it sounded, the guard turned around regardless. Now, he could make out the watchman in detail under the moonlight; A set of flawless features perched upon a perfect, gaunt figure with long, sleek hair the color of the moon itself.
This was no man- it was an elf. His steel grey eyes locked with Draken's and they exchanged glares for what seemed like minutes, but in reality it was only a split second. Then their blades had locked together furiously which sended several loud clashes resonating throughout the town.
"Draken, is it?" The elf asked as their blades were caught in a deadlock.
He did not answer.
"I know you can speak, boy," The elf's silky voice echoed.
"I am, you damn elf," Draken replied through gritted teeth.
"That's Captain to you, you cur," he hissed.
The elf's elegant sword pushed Draken's away with ease each time. He was much stronger than Draken- but Draken was faster and after several minutes of fierce combat, fatigue began to set in on this elf. Draken feigned left, then swung in a large arc across his chest from the right. Betrayed by his natural grace, the elf cried out heralding his defeat to the night.
.How did you find this site? Neopets. Right after I posted a 'looking for forum' thread, I clicked 'refresh' and this one just happened to be on the top board
