Daemon Celewyn Cipher
Dec 6, 2015 3:25:31 GMT
Post by damienareas on Dec 6, 2015 3:25:31 GMT
Far beyond the reaches of Fae’run coast, deep within the oceans and across the expanse of the wilds came to rest the city of Bancur. A prosperous and vibrant coastal city of stone that was the lynch-pin of society to the connecting cities further inland. Life was joyous, the economy plentiful and the sun always to shine down upon the city that was the turning point of prosperity and technology. Crime was but a thing of a shadowed past, all having not more than they required to live beyond comfort and bartering excess to the less for goods and services required. There was always little need for city guards as everyone within this city worked together to ensure its wealth and stability.
Then there was the Osmadth Slums of Bancur, further into the city sector where prosperity stopped at the stone gate severing this cancerous district from the rest of the golden age of civilization. It was here that true society reigned, where the heart of black beat proudly with intentions bared to the world rather than concealed beneath polite smiles and dagger words impaled in the back as slander. This was the true face of the world of Bancur, where cut throats, thieves, murderers and more existed day to day without a care in the world for another’s life.
At the stone gate separating this sector from the rest of Bancur, there were no less than twelve guards manning each side of the pathway between the two districts and all for the singular purpose of keeping the rot in its place. It is here that a young male by the name of Daemon Celewyn Cipher came to exist; brownish red hair hanging messy to all directions, dirt under his fingernails and like most in this region of the grand city, covered in clothes and robes that were essentially a patch work of different fabrics and leathers based on what was available.
By the age of thirteen, he was one of the top known cut throats within the slums; known for his abilities of thievery, adapting to changes in his plans without needing a second to think on it and being particularly brutal towards his marks. No one dared to cross the young lad even as he continued to grow in the worst areas possible, filled with diseases spread through poorly kept cleaning and untold amounts of prostitution.
By the age of seventeen, he’d grown into a youthful young man, no longer boy turned rogue; when news had come to spread through not only the city proper but the deepest regions of the slums. A creature of a man had appeared before the council of the city garbed in the finest of clothing, standing tall as a demon prince with eyes of crimson, hair as black as night and flesh purple-blue as bruised death. Likewise the male bore to the world immense appendages of feathered design for flight and wielded a weapon of unknown power and design.
It was hard not to know of such arrival of said creature as the moon had come to block out the sun high in the sky, casting the world into illuminated darkness. And all too soon, the words delivered to the council were sent to every point of the city despite their attempt to hush such words, believing in their worship to Kossuth to protect them from the entity.
“Worship me as your new god, and you will all come to live and thrive in ways you could not possibly imagine. No longer will you cast false love and praise to your lord of fire. Darkness is supreme. When all light has been extinguished, darkness comes. At the edge of light, darkness exists always. When you close your eyes, darkness you see in your soul. I am Necratis Bayne and I am your God born flesh of darkness and twilight. You have one week before my return and I will take your answer, or take your lives.”
City torn asunder in civil war, the week passed with the city divided between steady faith in ones beliefs and terror. Necratis returned and demanded total subservience or total annihilation of all; this was not given to him mainly by the nobles of high and the council of Bancur as much as the Temple of Kossuth.
“Very well. Destruction is my gift to the ignorant of light. Bathe in your blood and be consumed by shadow.” These were the last words spoken by the entity as he faded in a flurry of feather and darkness. The solar eclipse stayed high in the sky and as darkness fell fully unto the world, a new life had come with the cities rebirth into the night. A shadow dragon came upon the witching hour, and in its existence did it bring death and destruction.
The slums were the first to be devoured in clouds of smoke and drain of life, claws, teeth and tail tearing the district apart in but a few hours before the towering stone wall leading into the main part of the city was struck down and with it death rained down upon them all. Flesh devoured and life ended, those who could escape did into the wastelands surrounding the city. Not was to be left in the aftermath of the attack that turned life to death and light to darkness.
Daemon was one such youth to have escaped during the chaos, using his wits and survival instinct to escape and watch the destruction from atop a hill barely a mile away. Quite a few from the slums had escaped through secret passageways but those who were within the more prosperous regions of the city had nothing to flee to but the ocean which was already bathed in a destruction from the dragon’s breath.
No sadness, no remorse or feelings for those lost, the survivors made way free from the city and deeper into the reaches of the wasteland that had once been a vibrant country side. The dragon had obviously come from somewhere inland before it reached the city. As far as the eye could see, there was not but twisted remains of the landscape; storm clouds high above and strange beasts flying about through the air, picking off anything to devour that they spotted from high above. Little by little, the survivors were devoured by starvation, predatory creatures and pure exhaustion that left them weak and open to anything that desired to end them.
Daemon and few others were all that remained as days turned to weeks and weeks to months. Years had passed as the outland became a kill or be killed environment and all seemed to be a perpetual nightmarish existence bred to drive even the strongest mind to insanity. It was only upon the existence of a small village three years after the destruction of their home that turned Daemon’s world from bleak to hell. All survivors of the village were not but shambling and ravenous creatures of death and had to be destroyed by the few that remained in his traveling party.
Battle hardened from the wasteland, death was something he became accustomed to but after so long betrayal was something he had forgotten from the slums. Food scarce, his most loyal and trusted friend seized upon opportunity in the village and ran carving knife through his chest and straight through his back leaving him severely wounded as he was left for dead. Even so, he made on and dealt with the injury with makeshift bandages until it healed to leave not but a large scar across his bared chest. Months had come to pass and his survival instincts grew all the stronger as he drove himself for survival.
Upon a night of twilight moon of blood did life come to stop in its eternal torment for Daemon however as the same beast of burden appeared upon Cliffside and bathed him in its breath leaving not but pain and suffering to etch itself into his very soul. Left for dead, darkness consumed his mind and sleep took him. Daemon would later awake his body not but agony as dancing shadows consumed his vision; the shadows of mountains rock walls passing by him and a giant stone archway. The sense of being taken somewhere by wagon had come and gone just as slumber overtook his body.
Burning, flames and torment consumed his flesh as he laid upon stone altar; hot metal pressed upon bared flesh; all that could be taken in was the breath of ember, smoke and forge fire. The ringing of hammer and stone echoing in his mind until finally his sight returned to show dancing lights from molten lead. Helm forged over his face, Daemon’s body was given new life. It was only after months of recovery, becoming accustomed to the new form given to him that he had come to learn he now resided within Urongai, the city born into the mountainside that was home to human and dwarf that worshiped the forge god Anyon. Through Magic and Might, they forged the new body that Daemon now existed with and was trained in its use to become a warrior of true mettle and strong spirit.
Sent out into the world, he was reborn, Deadlock; a warrior bound flesh and metal who held no conscience, no voice and did as he pleased based on what needs suited him. At his side, his creator and meander of his wounds should his body ever begin to fail him; Dolin Baronstone. A dwarf who forged with the might of his passion and cyan flame who merges fire, might and magic into everything he creates.
With body reshaped, Deadlock possesses a height of six feet, five inches and weighs in total with his bound armored flesh two hundred and fifty pounds of muscle and metal in his frame of lean and hyper developed muscle set. No amount of actual flesh is seen upon this body of Dwarven and Human engineering as every inch of him is covered either by layered leather and adamantine chain or plate layers of steel. Upon his back rests a trio of weapons at all times, however which ever one he chooses to wield is undetermined until he has chosen to which he would like to dispatch his target. Seeming almost mindless, he acts without speaking but always appears knowledgeable enough to listen and accurately follow instruction if given. Whether there exists inside the shell of armor, the man that once lived is not known as all that can be heard is the shallow breaths that come from within the helm he wears.
As a whole, he appears to favor a trio of weapons plus shield upon his back, all three weapons appear to hold the tell-tale signs of being made of folded steel and damascus. A long sword, a claymore, and what appears to be a polearm weapon that is a merged form of a halberd and a spear. Creation and creator side by side, they set sail to worlds untold where darkness blooms to spread the forge fire and the blue flame of valor.
Theme Song:
Then there was the Osmadth Slums of Bancur, further into the city sector where prosperity stopped at the stone gate severing this cancerous district from the rest of the golden age of civilization. It was here that true society reigned, where the heart of black beat proudly with intentions bared to the world rather than concealed beneath polite smiles and dagger words impaled in the back as slander. This was the true face of the world of Bancur, where cut throats, thieves, murderers and more existed day to day without a care in the world for another’s life.
At the stone gate separating this sector from the rest of Bancur, there were no less than twelve guards manning each side of the pathway between the two districts and all for the singular purpose of keeping the rot in its place. It is here that a young male by the name of Daemon Celewyn Cipher came to exist; brownish red hair hanging messy to all directions, dirt under his fingernails and like most in this region of the grand city, covered in clothes and robes that were essentially a patch work of different fabrics and leathers based on what was available.
By the age of thirteen, he was one of the top known cut throats within the slums; known for his abilities of thievery, adapting to changes in his plans without needing a second to think on it and being particularly brutal towards his marks. No one dared to cross the young lad even as he continued to grow in the worst areas possible, filled with diseases spread through poorly kept cleaning and untold amounts of prostitution.
By the age of seventeen, he’d grown into a youthful young man, no longer boy turned rogue; when news had come to spread through not only the city proper but the deepest regions of the slums. A creature of a man had appeared before the council of the city garbed in the finest of clothing, standing tall as a demon prince with eyes of crimson, hair as black as night and flesh purple-blue as bruised death. Likewise the male bore to the world immense appendages of feathered design for flight and wielded a weapon of unknown power and design.
It was hard not to know of such arrival of said creature as the moon had come to block out the sun high in the sky, casting the world into illuminated darkness. And all too soon, the words delivered to the council were sent to every point of the city despite their attempt to hush such words, believing in their worship to Kossuth to protect them from the entity.
“Worship me as your new god, and you will all come to live and thrive in ways you could not possibly imagine. No longer will you cast false love and praise to your lord of fire. Darkness is supreme. When all light has been extinguished, darkness comes. At the edge of light, darkness exists always. When you close your eyes, darkness you see in your soul. I am Necratis Bayne and I am your God born flesh of darkness and twilight. You have one week before my return and I will take your answer, or take your lives.”
City torn asunder in civil war, the week passed with the city divided between steady faith in ones beliefs and terror. Necratis returned and demanded total subservience or total annihilation of all; this was not given to him mainly by the nobles of high and the council of Bancur as much as the Temple of Kossuth.
“Very well. Destruction is my gift to the ignorant of light. Bathe in your blood and be consumed by shadow.” These were the last words spoken by the entity as he faded in a flurry of feather and darkness. The solar eclipse stayed high in the sky and as darkness fell fully unto the world, a new life had come with the cities rebirth into the night. A shadow dragon came upon the witching hour, and in its existence did it bring death and destruction.
The slums were the first to be devoured in clouds of smoke and drain of life, claws, teeth and tail tearing the district apart in but a few hours before the towering stone wall leading into the main part of the city was struck down and with it death rained down upon them all. Flesh devoured and life ended, those who could escape did into the wastelands surrounding the city. Not was to be left in the aftermath of the attack that turned life to death and light to darkness.
Daemon was one such youth to have escaped during the chaos, using his wits and survival instinct to escape and watch the destruction from atop a hill barely a mile away. Quite a few from the slums had escaped through secret passageways but those who were within the more prosperous regions of the city had nothing to flee to but the ocean which was already bathed in a destruction from the dragon’s breath.
No sadness, no remorse or feelings for those lost, the survivors made way free from the city and deeper into the reaches of the wasteland that had once been a vibrant country side. The dragon had obviously come from somewhere inland before it reached the city. As far as the eye could see, there was not but twisted remains of the landscape; storm clouds high above and strange beasts flying about through the air, picking off anything to devour that they spotted from high above. Little by little, the survivors were devoured by starvation, predatory creatures and pure exhaustion that left them weak and open to anything that desired to end them.
Daemon and few others were all that remained as days turned to weeks and weeks to months. Years had passed as the outland became a kill or be killed environment and all seemed to be a perpetual nightmarish existence bred to drive even the strongest mind to insanity. It was only upon the existence of a small village three years after the destruction of their home that turned Daemon’s world from bleak to hell. All survivors of the village were not but shambling and ravenous creatures of death and had to be destroyed by the few that remained in his traveling party.
Battle hardened from the wasteland, death was something he became accustomed to but after so long betrayal was something he had forgotten from the slums. Food scarce, his most loyal and trusted friend seized upon opportunity in the village and ran carving knife through his chest and straight through his back leaving him severely wounded as he was left for dead. Even so, he made on and dealt with the injury with makeshift bandages until it healed to leave not but a large scar across his bared chest. Months had come to pass and his survival instincts grew all the stronger as he drove himself for survival.
Upon a night of twilight moon of blood did life come to stop in its eternal torment for Daemon however as the same beast of burden appeared upon Cliffside and bathed him in its breath leaving not but pain and suffering to etch itself into his very soul. Left for dead, darkness consumed his mind and sleep took him. Daemon would later awake his body not but agony as dancing shadows consumed his vision; the shadows of mountains rock walls passing by him and a giant stone archway. The sense of being taken somewhere by wagon had come and gone just as slumber overtook his body.
Burning, flames and torment consumed his flesh as he laid upon stone altar; hot metal pressed upon bared flesh; all that could be taken in was the breath of ember, smoke and forge fire. The ringing of hammer and stone echoing in his mind until finally his sight returned to show dancing lights from molten lead. Helm forged over his face, Daemon’s body was given new life. It was only after months of recovery, becoming accustomed to the new form given to him that he had come to learn he now resided within Urongai, the city born into the mountainside that was home to human and dwarf that worshiped the forge god Anyon. Through Magic and Might, they forged the new body that Daemon now existed with and was trained in its use to become a warrior of true mettle and strong spirit.
Sent out into the world, he was reborn, Deadlock; a warrior bound flesh and metal who held no conscience, no voice and did as he pleased based on what needs suited him. At his side, his creator and meander of his wounds should his body ever begin to fail him; Dolin Baronstone. A dwarf who forged with the might of his passion and cyan flame who merges fire, might and magic into everything he creates.
With body reshaped, Deadlock possesses a height of six feet, five inches and weighs in total with his bound armored flesh two hundred and fifty pounds of muscle and metal in his frame of lean and hyper developed muscle set. No amount of actual flesh is seen upon this body of Dwarven and Human engineering as every inch of him is covered either by layered leather and adamantine chain or plate layers of steel. Upon his back rests a trio of weapons at all times, however which ever one he chooses to wield is undetermined until he has chosen to which he would like to dispatch his target. Seeming almost mindless, he acts without speaking but always appears knowledgeable enough to listen and accurately follow instruction if given. Whether there exists inside the shell of armor, the man that once lived is not known as all that can be heard is the shallow breaths that come from within the helm he wears.
As a whole, he appears to favor a trio of weapons plus shield upon his back, all three weapons appear to hold the tell-tale signs of being made of folded steel and damascus. A long sword, a claymore, and what appears to be a polearm weapon that is a merged form of a halberd and a spear. Creation and creator side by side, they set sail to worlds untold where darkness blooms to spread the forge fire and the blue flame of valor.
Theme Song: