Greetings, ladies and gentlemen. The old flame has come back to bust some heads. So who's it going to be, eh? I feel like returning with a bang, so I'm going to use one of my more powerful characters! I'd be more than happy to set up the battlefield, but if you have something you've been itching to use, let me know in your acceptance post!
Let's burn, baby.
I Return! (Open Challenge)
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Trickster-kun
- Member
- Posts: 105
- Joined: Mon Jun 25, 2007 8:30 pm
- Location: I moved. Somewhere.
- Contact:
Please allow this humble newbie to dance his fourth battle with you. If it's all right, we shall use the following battlefield:
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The expanses of the human mind are often unknon to even the most genious of human minds. The concoctions of the 'revolutionaires', as some call them, often find themselves being admired, looked down upon, or in worse cases, destroyed. Some of them, however, remain abandoned withstanding the passage of time: forgotten mines, ruins of ancient lore, texts of legendary deeds... all remnants of the past, at times brought to light, and at other times slumbering within the unknown reaches of the earth itself.
Such is the case with St. Asherina's cathedral, a true marvel of architectural prowess, and yet one that lay forgotten by the hand and eyes of man exactly because of its magnificence. Lady Asherina of the Ancient Waterfalls, she was called: a former priestess in a shrine that sank underwater, caught in a great cataclysm. Admired for her loyalty to the citizens and her passion for serving the higher powers, she was eventually granted holy powers that she used to further achieve her mission on this blasted Earth. And yet, it was a tale consumed by the irony of she, who could manipulate the very essence of the water, to die under the water that she had come to love so much during her life.
But her memory lived on, in those that came after her, and then the ones after them. Devoted followers appeared as suddendly as the morning tide, and in their hands they took their fate. In their minds, they revered that which had before saved them and elightened them, and in their hearts they carried the same love that she had before expressed to each and every one of them in turn. And thus an island chapel was built, in order to honor the memory of their beloved. In the shrine they prayed, and within its bowels they offered their heart, life and soul to her holy cause.
But soon it turned out, it was not enough for them. They wanted more.
More followers joined the organization, and the people were overjoyed in spreading their message of love and friendship. A chapel evolved into a full-fledged church, but there came the moment where that, too, was not enough. They wanted more. They wanted a cathedral, a place that was as large as the love they had for their holy figure, and one that would be just as symbolic. But how to do it, they thought? It would take a large effort to build the place they envisioned: resources, work, time. They had no time to spare. They did not want their leader to wait. She did not deserve it, they thought. Not after what she did for them.
And then, an architect of the city appeared. Preaching his trade, he offered his services to the Order of St. Asherina asking very little in exchange. A visionaire soon turned into two, and four, and eight, and before a few days, a full contructing force of more than 5000 people had taken over the island church. Day anf night they worked, through tide and hail, tornado and thunder, rain and shine. and in just a few months, it was done: St Asherina's cathedral, a magnificent building birthed of steel and stone, and possessing the primitive beauty of lore that scholars loved and explorers sought. Iy was perfect in every sense of the word, and the Order couldn't be happier. The architect moved into the city, having been converted to St. Asherina's beliefs, and together they opened the cathedral for its first preaching.
There was one small caveat: the building was built underwater.
And underwater the people gathered, feeling truly in sync with the one
they revered and loved. But now, it has been since long abandoned, its resources and followers gone with the sands of time. Forgotten was St. Asherina, and forgotten lay her underwater cathedral.
Until now.
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Launch'd. Have fun, and expect your reply soon~
-----------------------------
The expanses of the human mind are often unknon to even the most genious of human minds. The concoctions of the 'revolutionaires', as some call them, often find themselves being admired, looked down upon, or in worse cases, destroyed. Some of them, however, remain abandoned withstanding the passage of time: forgotten mines, ruins of ancient lore, texts of legendary deeds... all remnants of the past, at times brought to light, and at other times slumbering within the unknown reaches of the earth itself.
Such is the case with St. Asherina's cathedral, a true marvel of architectural prowess, and yet one that lay forgotten by the hand and eyes of man exactly because of its magnificence. Lady Asherina of the Ancient Waterfalls, she was called: a former priestess in a shrine that sank underwater, caught in a great cataclysm. Admired for her loyalty to the citizens and her passion for serving the higher powers, she was eventually granted holy powers that she used to further achieve her mission on this blasted Earth. And yet, it was a tale consumed by the irony of she, who could manipulate the very essence of the water, to die under the water that she had come to love so much during her life.
But her memory lived on, in those that came after her, and then the ones after them. Devoted followers appeared as suddendly as the morning tide, and in their hands they took their fate. In their minds, they revered that which had before saved them and elightened them, and in their hearts they carried the same love that she had before expressed to each and every one of them in turn. And thus an island chapel was built, in order to honor the memory of their beloved. In the shrine they prayed, and within its bowels they offered their heart, life and soul to her holy cause.
But soon it turned out, it was not enough for them. They wanted more.
More followers joined the organization, and the people were overjoyed in spreading their message of love and friendship. A chapel evolved into a full-fledged church, but there came the moment where that, too, was not enough. They wanted more. They wanted a cathedral, a place that was as large as the love they had for their holy figure, and one that would be just as symbolic. But how to do it, they thought? It would take a large effort to build the place they envisioned: resources, work, time. They had no time to spare. They did not want their leader to wait. She did not deserve it, they thought. Not after what she did for them.
And then, an architect of the city appeared. Preaching his trade, he offered his services to the Order of St. Asherina asking very little in exchange. A visionaire soon turned into two, and four, and eight, and before a few days, a full contructing force of more than 5000 people had taken over the island church. Day anf night they worked, through tide and hail, tornado and thunder, rain and shine. and in just a few months, it was done: St Asherina's cathedral, a magnificent building birthed of steel and stone, and possessing the primitive beauty of lore that scholars loved and explorers sought. Iy was perfect in every sense of the word, and the Order couldn't be happier. The architect moved into the city, having been converted to St. Asherina's beliefs, and together they opened the cathedral for its first preaching.
There was one small caveat: the building was built underwater.
And underwater the people gathered, feeling truly in sync with the one
they revered and loved. But now, it has been since long abandoned, its resources and followers gone with the sands of time. Forgotten was St. Asherina, and forgotten lay her underwater cathedral.
Until now.
-----------------------
Launch'd. Have fun, and expect your reply soon~
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HolocaustHybrid
- Member
- Posts: 138
- Joined: Tue Jul 13, 2004 1:00 am
(Edit: I've opted to use a new little horror for you since you obliged with such an interesting battleground. Hope that's okay.)
Dancing light and silence ruled the cathedral beneath the sea. The wordless day above the surface of the water sent the unwanted, unloved sunlight to drown, but it instead found new life as the shifting blue that covered every wall. Despite the kelp and coral that had built up on the exterior of the building, it was bereft of growth inside, the result of it being completely water-tight and pressure-sealed by design. The chambers within could have remained as they were at that moment forever, had a hunter not emerged. A dimensional rift ripped itself open and sealed itself seemingly all at once, but it was just enough time for the one who made it to step into the cathedral of Saint Asherina.
Of course, names, sceneries and histories little concerned the creature that appeared: To, Warden of Iulls. Standing at a mere five feet and three inches, To did not cut an intimidating figure, but there was a sinister look to it. Clad in tarnished steel, rife with auburn rust patches, its armor seemed to gravitate towards the themes of grip and bondage. Its breastplate took the shape of a pair of hands reaching upwards towards its neck, clenching its torso along the way. Upon his shoulders, spaulders formed from ten locks each, bound by lengths of clattering chain which hung down to its elbows.
Its massive gauntlets were coiled and crushed by thick, sculpted brambles, while snakes constricted its boots and legs, the snakes mouths meeting at the waist to spit forth the same hands that gripped its upper body. Locks and chains hung from virtually every surface, but the worst part was the being's face. Anyone who had known the long history of the ancient world of Henar would have recognized To as an Ilventhan, a member of the demi-god elemental race that subjugated and devoured all life on their world. Its face was a riven ruin of sundered rock and roiling magma, with three eye sockets that had been emptied some time ago. Metal hooks reached from the edges of the chaotically spiked helmet, embedded in the stone around the eye sockets, tugging them forever open. This was the price of the Warden's post. This was eternal vigilance.
That vigilance, the duty of the Warden of Iulls, was once to imprison traitors to the Ilventhan too powerful to fall by normal hands. But To had long ago taken a new charge when its people were wiped out by their malevolent god. To vowed to use its power to destroy the same Black Cabal that had forged its race from the core of Henar in days forgotten by Father Time himself.
It assessed its surroundings and knew immediately that two things were amiss. The first, was that it couldn't sense its targets volatile aura. He wasn't here. The second was that someone...or something else definitely was. To thrust an armored hand up against its face and squeezed hard before it began to tug, the sound of rumbling rock and hissing steam preceding the removal of a battle axe from its face. It took the weapon and lowered it, relaxing as it tried to feel out the threatening presence that drew closer.
The Warden of Iulls was nothing if not battle-ready.
Dancing light and silence ruled the cathedral beneath the sea. The wordless day above the surface of the water sent the unwanted, unloved sunlight to drown, but it instead found new life as the shifting blue that covered every wall. Despite the kelp and coral that had built up on the exterior of the building, it was bereft of growth inside, the result of it being completely water-tight and pressure-sealed by design. The chambers within could have remained as they were at that moment forever, had a hunter not emerged. A dimensional rift ripped itself open and sealed itself seemingly all at once, but it was just enough time for the one who made it to step into the cathedral of Saint Asherina.
Of course, names, sceneries and histories little concerned the creature that appeared: To, Warden of Iulls. Standing at a mere five feet and three inches, To did not cut an intimidating figure, but there was a sinister look to it. Clad in tarnished steel, rife with auburn rust patches, its armor seemed to gravitate towards the themes of grip and bondage. Its breastplate took the shape of a pair of hands reaching upwards towards its neck, clenching its torso along the way. Upon his shoulders, spaulders formed from ten locks each, bound by lengths of clattering chain which hung down to its elbows.
Its massive gauntlets were coiled and crushed by thick, sculpted brambles, while snakes constricted its boots and legs, the snakes mouths meeting at the waist to spit forth the same hands that gripped its upper body. Locks and chains hung from virtually every surface, but the worst part was the being's face. Anyone who had known the long history of the ancient world of Henar would have recognized To as an Ilventhan, a member of the demi-god elemental race that subjugated and devoured all life on their world. Its face was a riven ruin of sundered rock and roiling magma, with three eye sockets that had been emptied some time ago. Metal hooks reached from the edges of the chaotically spiked helmet, embedded in the stone around the eye sockets, tugging them forever open. This was the price of the Warden's post. This was eternal vigilance.
That vigilance, the duty of the Warden of Iulls, was once to imprison traitors to the Ilventhan too powerful to fall by normal hands. But To had long ago taken a new charge when its people were wiped out by their malevolent god. To vowed to use its power to destroy the same Black Cabal that had forged its race from the core of Henar in days forgotten by Father Time himself.
It assessed its surroundings and knew immediately that two things were amiss. The first, was that it couldn't sense its targets volatile aura. He wasn't here. The second was that someone...or something else definitely was. To thrust an armored hand up against its face and squeezed hard before it began to tug, the sound of rumbling rock and hissing steam preceding the removal of a battle axe from its face. It took the weapon and lowered it, relaxing as it tried to feel out the threatening presence that drew closer.
The Warden of Iulls was nothing if not battle-ready.