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 23, 2017 12:09:33 GMT -8
The night of entertainment in the tenement ward lasted a little over two hours before a young girl died thanks to rioters. Sponsors of the event were horrified to learn what we now know. The Witch of the Slums, a purveyor of potions and tonics, had done something truly heinous. In communing with devils and no doubt Tyr himself- she concocted a horrific weapon which killed 249 people, transforming many of them into bloodthirsty beasts. Our brave soldiers fought tooth and nail against rioters, the beasts, and through great struggle have secured the ward. It remains on lockdown, but those visiting the ward are being released among the population.
The battle was not without civilian casualties or military loses. Lieutenant Claudio Vasyr reported a complete loss of a cohort, and numbered the total casualties to the military at one hundred and fifty-three brave souls. The Witch of the Slums is still at large presumably, and though the ward has been combed for her, no one has reported any sightings.
Roland Murdt issued a statement through cryers around town asking for mass deportations of immigrants stating that “Tyran isn’t sending us her best. The are sending witches, bandits, deviants of all sorts- unable to even receive the charity of a decorated theatre troop. It is time we put our nation first and cast off all who would destroy her from within.”
The merchant noble is expected to receive several military leaders for an appreciation gala tonight. -from a broadsheet circulated by the bard college.
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Newbie
gender: Male
status: offline
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Post by Reign Kaliba on Jun 23, 2017 21:12:35 GMT -8
The night called and Reign answered, the notice of the trouble in the Wards had him quickly drawing up his power. Stretching time and space, he arrived in New Arisalon inside his office.. deep within the complex holding the dungeons. He was surprised to see someone standing there.
He could only see the man. He couldn’t smell him. Couldn’t feel his magical energy. The Darklight even seemed to overlook him, and that darkness was awake. Straining against the bonds. He could feel it scratching at his mental wards. The man was something the Darkness was interested in… He wondered why…
Reign went immediately on his guard, speaking in calm tones as he began to summon the power to defend himself. “I don’t know who you are. Or who sent you….but I suggest you leave.”
The magi was in black. Black and grays, in robes and in armor. Armor that had a familiarity to it. It took Reign only a moment to recognize it, as the magi’s voice came as smooth baritone accompanied by the echo of whispers. “Reign Kaliba. Scourge of Tyran. Savior of Tyran. You’re days of duality…they end.”
“I don’t know what you claim to know…but you’ll be returning that armor.” Reign slowly drew from the aether itself a blade of solid force, his magick quickening to reinforce his defenses. The Magi in response did nothing, his face behind a featureless full mask helm.
“No, Reign. You will be returning something to me, to the Empire. Where it belongs.”
The office soon exploded into physical combat between men well versed in how magic could be employed in such a struggle. Spells streaked between them, and for moments it looked as though Reign could win. He felt his blood rise with the ensuing violence, felt the vigor build with each stroke of his sword. It took nearly a minute, to realize that this magi wasn’t trying to kill him.
He felt his daughter’s pain. Enchantments woven into her clothing, layered even upon her body made him aware when she experienced true pain. Her blood had been shed. Was she at this riot? He needed to dispatch this man and quick.
That was when the Magi began to fight back. Reign was cognizant of the moment he truly earned the magi’s offense. It was that flicker, the rage that touched him- weakened the barriers he had erected. He felt the Darkness, Asmodai the primordial force, the darkness that lurked in all hearts- Father of Murder, Creator of Sin. He strained to be released, he could hear his temptation. “If you wish to save your daughter, release me. Let us drink of this fool’s blood, rip out his heart and devour his essence.”
Reign refused him. He’d let him out a few nights before, and it had made him bold. As if something was tethered to him, as if Asmodai had wedged a claw from behind the walls he was imprisoned…scraping his way to freedom.
“Tick tock, Reign. You don’t want to lose her do you? Kaliba family just keeps dying…That doesn’t worry you does it?”
Bastard..
“Now, tell me Reign would this of taken you so long if I were batting my eyelashes at you? Would you be so reserved if I told you I’d been so very bad…” The magi teased, and Reign’s eyes widened with rage.
“ Where is the man who nearly killed his father, just because… Where is the man the world once feared? Who is this puppy in service to a has-been god?” The Magi countered Reign’s fierce attack and slammed arcane force against Reign’s body slamming him into the wall and pressing, crushing until bones would snap.
“The riot must be crushing her now… Just as I crush you, Reign Kaliba. Here. IN your place, where you thought you would carry on the dream of the Empire.” Reign struggled against the force, his arcane power obviously not a match for this magi. No. This Magister. He fought with the skill and premeditation of an Arisalonian.
“You can still win…we can win. Give us this and I will give you peace. I will give you years to spend with your new daughter. Yes…daughter. I will yield to you the time you’ve hungered for. I will spare your lover. Your daughters. But give us this…one last time. If you die…then we die, and I am not done.” The Darkness spoke with that same hissing sound he had been so accustomed to- that barely constrained rage. But it was in him that deceit was found- and in the moment of his desperation Reign believed.
He dug down deep where he had buried that power, taking it in hand….drawing it up and letting it rise higher and higher into it broke the surface of his thoughts and became reality. Darkness flooded the room blotting out all light, all warmth, the writhing tendrils of energy made solid lashed out, and the hungry void blasted the room with uttercold. Reign felt the overwhelming ecstasy of such abandon, then somewhere in that sensation he panicked. The Magi was still there…He wasn’t dead. He wasn’t in pain. And Reign felt a great ripping in his chest. He wasn’t striking out with the Darklight anymore… he was losing it.
The manuscript. He had reviewed every note. Every bit of it- but secret tomes held secrets as you’d imagine. The Magi had been there…in the tower. Unseen. He had hexed him. Marked the power as his own, made a deal with Asmodai in that instant. Attuned to it. How wasn’t important… It felt as if the Magister was ripping out his very soul and deep within the bowels of an empty dungeon, its guards mysteriously absent Reign screamed in a void unseen and unfelt, ripped away from the weave.
When the darkness finally faded, Reign looked to ceiling and heard men searching outside. As he stood up, weak and battered, his body having suffered the tremendous abuse of the Magister’s attack, he pondered why he’d been left alive. Professional courtesy…or the promise of his familiar passenger. His legs gave out beneath him but he caught himself on the door, a door that was concealed and glamoured from the outside. Paranoia that had cost him a speedy rescue.
“Stand tall, son. You’re free.” Came a whisper so familiar that it gave him chills.
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