Amateur
gender: Male
status: offline
Alias: Black Hood
Race: Arisalonian
Gender: Male
Age: Appears to be in his early to mid twenties, and maintains peak physical youth as if he remains in his prime.
Clan/Family: House Kaliba
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Post by Trent Kaliba on Jun 14, 2017 6:09:51 GMT -8
Trent in his waking moments could not believe his life. He had departed Talos with Milhin, met with her regularly as they established new places to retreat from the world from. Sanctuaries were in prevalent supply with the sheer amount of dead from the cataclysm. One such safe haven was the farm house in the meadowlands. It had been a place bought for him and Sylvanna to retreat from the Chalet, from the ‘rule of Talos.’ He had never expected to be there alone with a laboratory filling the basement and golem guardians standing vigil in hidden places, secured with layered illusion. Finding the farmhouse was something few if any could do- and if they did, it would be the last thing they found. Trent as “The Black Hood” had developed certain spells that obfuscated entire portions of reality. The very idea of him, slippery to the mind. It was this nature of magic that made it so easy for him to disappear. Talos did not boast survivors. No one to tell the tale. If the wisest among Tyran came to Talos smoking ruins, filled with undead- they would presume perhaps Milhin had went mad, or even that Hell had swallowed the city during its most recent threat. Trent’s hands publically seemed clean, and when those realizations weighed on him, he wondered if he could turn back. He had merely punished those who were responsible. He had little to do with what else. He knew it was foolish to think that way. His reaction to Sylvie’s death was no minor hiccup. He could feel the rage boiling under the surface, not assuaged, not satisfied with his acts yet. Trent rolled out of the bed he never got much slept in and wandered into the kitchen, both for food and water, and to contemplate just how far he had fallen. Sylvie...she wouldn't of wanted this. Certainly wouldn’t of wanted what he was working on in the basement.
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Apprentice
gender: Male
status: offline
Alias: Tyranius
Race: Demonic God
Gender: Male
Age: N/A
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Post by Tyr on Jun 14, 2017 18:50:58 GMT -8
It was dark it was night, he had just rolled from bed call it the Midnight Jitters or Sleep Deprived Delusions, call it what one would Rationalize what happened Next, there was a sound as something in the Kitchen dropped and Trent Would turn to look no doubt and find Sylvie Standing there in a Nightgown like the day he had first invited her in her scent would waft into his nose, long enough for Trent to think she was real before she spoke her voice her musical voice filled his ears "Trent why didn't you save me?" Before she collapsed to the floor much like she had so long ago. "Trent....." Before she seemed to fade like a horrible replay the scene replayed itself over before him again and again....this was going to be a Long Night for Trent.
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Amateur
gender: Male
status: offline
Alias: Black Hood
Race: Arisalonian
Gender: Male
Age: Appears to be in his early to mid twenties, and maintains peak physical youth as if he remains in his prime.
Clan/Family: House Kaliba
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Post by Trent Kaliba on Jun 15, 2017 10:35:33 GMT -8
Trent was not familiar with hallucinations. He did not have a history of them, his extremely rational, partitioned mind was simply too orderly. So- when hearing Sylvie say things he knew she would not say his mind went to two divergent places.
One, he considered the possibility that Sylvanna had employed some fail-safe. That caused a pit to form in his stomach. What he had done….it’s weight was suddenly felt and his own displeasure at his own weak guilt caused him a grimace. While his heart leapt at her familiar voice, the words sent him to the other more likely possibility.
Two. Trent knew he didn’t hallucinate, and he knew Sylvie wasn’t the type to persist in spirit form. This was something different. This was a foul spirit, a demon, both? It was something trying to push him. Trent decided right there, he wouldn’t succeed. Or maybe he didn’t need to. Trent looked over to where the ‘phantom’ had stood and shook his head back and forth to clear his eyes. “Spirit...be gone. I do not need your reminders of loss.” he said aloud and with his sleep ruined returned to the basement to work.
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Adventurer
gender: Female
status: offline
Race: Half demon-half drow
Gender: Female
Age: ageless
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Post by Milhin LeNoir on Jun 15, 2017 16:25:55 GMT -8
Milhin would often find Trent at night. Even when they were separated, the necromancer always knew where he was. Without Sylvanna, he was her only source of rest. The only reprieve she had from the shadows that lingered whenever she closed her eyes.
A tiny black butterfly flickered paper-thin wings as it perched unseen amongst the shadows of the kitchen ceiling. The scene was observed, ending with Trent leaving the room and making his way down the basement stairs.
The butterfly delved down from the ceiling, glowing with ultra-violet light which grew with intensity as the butterfly changed size and shape. The light dimmed to leave the Dark Child in its wake, hands clasped demurely at her waist. Her lips pursed briefly as she cast a lingering look to her surroundings.
A thoughtful hum broke the silence before she made her way with wraith-like fluidity down the stairs. Trent would no doubt sense her approach before the dainty female finally came into his view.
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Amateur
gender: Male
status: offline
Alias: Black Hood
Race: Arisalonian
Gender: Male
Age: Appears to be in his early to mid twenties, and maintains peak physical youth as if he remains in his prime.
Clan/Family: House Kaliba
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Post by Trent Kaliba on Jun 15, 2017 17:57:38 GMT -8
Trent had one thing in consistent supply. Inspiration. It came from an endless font. He was already mixing compounds in theory, double checking the math- the formulae, the magic. He was tending to a bonding agent when she walked in, something to hold the alchemical formula together. He didn't look up from the work, at least not in that moment. "Yes, Milhin?" he offered a moments attention, knowing that Milhin would not arrive without purpose, or at least she would not make herself known.
At his work table lie a carefully constructed phial of glass, perhaps much larger than a phial all the same. In it, seemingly suspended was a swirling gas, it's hue sickly, green, and yellow. In the corner some odd magical focus stood between three standing pins holding it precariously above the table. It shuddered with power, seemingly working it's magic over time to complete some measure of spell.
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