*This is a backstory concept for a character I have recently started playing. I wasn’t sure where to place this post, but decided to do it here. This post is only meant as a resource for a future character build / blog, and also as a teaser for those of you who like this sort of thing (which should be all of you, because this is awesome)*
Dealings with Demons
“While the villages of my youth are burned to ashes, and the revolting hordes of the deceased bring filth to my homeland, I name my thirst for vengeance once.” - she spoke her name aloud.
A shiver ran down her spine, the room grew colder and the light from her torch seemed to diminish, darken, until it’s light was nothing more than a grey shadow.
“I invoke thee, Spirit of Vengeance, for my heart is haunted by ghosts of rage, I name my thirst for vengeance twice.” - she said, and she did so.
A darkness appeared from within the shadows, blacker than blackness, a surging, menacing emptiness so cold and bitter that fear itself was swallowed by it’s bleakness. Her heart raced, and she collected all her will to finish the ritual.
“I invoke thee, Ancient One, for I am no longer able to serve the joys of life and now seek nothing but revenge…” Her voice dropped to a whisper “I name my thirst for vengeance thrice!”
An ancient spirit of vengeance stood before her, filling the doorway, and the angry one staggered back, gasping involuntarily.
The otherworldly being was clad in nothing but shadow, her flesh translucent and glowing with spectral un-light. Black Mist coiled around her like a living shroud and the angry girl saw the wicked smile of a fierce beast within that shroud.
With a slow sliding motion, the spectral figure drew forth the blackened spear protruding from her breastplate — the ancient weapon that had ended her life.
She threw it to the ground before the angry one. No words were spoken; there was no need. The angry one knew what was being offered to her — vengeance — and knew its terrible cost: her soul.
The white spirit of a beautiful woman, circled by the shadow of a terrible beast, watched with emotionlessness as the angry one collected the spear and slowly lifted the weapon above her breast.
She trusted down, feeling a cold sting as the blackened metal penetrated her skin, her breastbone and bore itself through her heart.
When she tore the spear out, she was no longer angry, no longer herself… she was vengance.
*This is a backstory concept for a character I have recently started playing. I wasn’t sure where to place this post, but decided to do it here. This post is only meant as a resource for a future character build / blog, and also as a teaser for those of you who like this sort of thing (which should be all of you, because this is awesome)*
Dealings with Demons
“While the villages of my youth are burned to ashes, and the revolting hordes of the deceased bring filth to my homeland, I name my thirst for vengeance once.” - she spoke her name aloud.
A shiver ran down her spine, the room grew colder and the light from her torch seemed to diminish, darken, until it’s light was nothing more than a grey shadow.
“I invoke thee, Spirit of Vengeance, for my heart is haunted by ghosts of rage, I name my thirst for vengeance twice.” - she said, and she did so.
A darkness appeared from within the shadows, blacker than blackness, a surging, menacing emptiness so cold and bitter that fear itself was swallowed by it’s bleakness. Her heart raced, and she collected all her will to finish the ritual.
“I invoke thee, Ancient One, for I am no longer able to serve the joys of life and now seek nothing but revenge…” Her voice dropped to a whisper “I name my thirst for vengeance thrice!”
An ancient spirit of vengeance stood before her, filling the doorway, and the angry one staggered back, gasping involuntarily.
The otherworldly being was clad in nothing but shadow, her flesh translucent and glowing with spectral un-light. Black Mist coiled around her like a living shroud and the angry girl saw the wicked smile of a fierce beast within that shroud.
With a slow sliding motion, the spectral figure drew forth the blackened spear protruding from her breastplate — the ancient weapon that had ended her life.
She threw it to the ground before the angry one. No words were spoken; there was no need. The angry one knew what was being offered to her — vengeance — and knew its terrible cost: her soul.
The white spirit of a beautiful woman, circled by the shadow of a terrible beast, watched with emotionlessness as the angry one collected the spear and slowly lifted the weapon above her breast.
She trusted down, feeling a cold sting as the blackened metal penetrated her skin, her breastbone and bore itself through her heart.
When she tore the spear out, she was no longer angry, no longer herself… she was vengance.
