Rose Merosiky
Established
Roleplay posts: 46
Age: 15
Physical Description: Height: 5'8"
Skin: Pale
Eye Color: Silver
Hair Color: Fluorescent white
Powers: Unknown
Personality: Uknown
Clothes and Equipment: Enchanted leather suit with armor plating as muscular padding to prevent movement restriction while being able to sustain an attack. Knee high strapped boots. Black leather gloves. Magical pendant.
Registered: May 23, 2016 17:41:12 GMT -8
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Post by Rose Merosiky on May 30, 2016 20:06:46 GMT -8
Rose could definitely see Neia was upset about something and it was probably him. He didn't have a clue as to what happened but it must not have been good. When the woman spoke, he offered no response out of fear that any excuse would make things worse. When Rose became aware of her temper he knew he needed to avoid it being towards him and direct it towards her enemies.
The only time he looked away from her was when she cast her magic on his pendant. Half of the pendant became a reminder of her magic and how strong she really was. The frosty part of the pendant didn't serve an aggressive magic, but a defensive magic that completely nullified the harsh realities of the cold. Despite the disgruntled appearance of Neia, Rose was aware that this magical edition to his pendant was a gift. Since the origination of this pendant was crafted from the blood of his family, the frosty edition meant much more to him that was Neia would have expected.
"I will control these powers, you will see. I accepted the Darkness as my weapon, not my master. If the blood is not yours, then it is a reminder of my father and what I have become. You are my queen and you will see that I will make you proud." Rose spoke as she left the room.
A minute passed and Rose looked to the owl at the foot of his bed, "You're more than welcome to come with me if you want, but I don't expect you to know what i'm saying and to stay right there."
Rose couldn't rest, he wasn't tired. With a quick tug of the sheets he ripped them off of his form to see he was still in tattered clothing. Rose looked around the room for a minute before he spotted a wardrobe. Live everything else, Rose expected some kind of magic from this wardrobe while he hoped there were clothes within it.
Rolling off of the bed and to his feet, Rose staggered to the wardrobe. Rose had not been on his feet in many days so walking again was a little odd for him. After falling twice, Rose made it to the wardrobe. When his hand pressed to the hand, a white glimmer of frost raced through the designs on the doors and the doors parted an inch. Rose finished opening the doors to find a black suit made of leathers and armor padding.
The young male immediately began shucking his old cloths off. Even in ruins, the layers of clothe he had on had to be taken off step by step. After two minutes, Rose stood bare in his room. Looking to the right of the wardrobe, Rose noticed a mirror. Since the boy had felt different, he thought he would look at himself in the mirror. When he did so, he had no reflection. With no reflection he was forced to look at his body himself and feel it. The muscle density and carving was impeccable, nothing like what it was a week ago. His tribe had no stories on such creatures like himself, so Rose had no clue that he had become a species of Vampire.
After reflecting on himself and trying to figure out the mysteries of his new body, Rose slipped into his armor plated leather suit. The armor carried no weight on Rose like it would have a normal mortal. This leather armor carried a magical effect that fit the leather suit to his body, outlining his muscular tone and young physique like it was spandex.
Rose looked again in the wardrobe and the final pieces of his outfit lied at the bottom of the wardrobe. A pair of black knee high boots that latched with straps that would give Rose all the leg and ankle support he needed in the mountains and full control in combat. Beside the boots was a pair of black gloves with nothing special to them except that they matched his outfit and fit like spandex.
Once Rose was fully dressed again, he brushed his hair with his fingers while walking over to the bed. When he reached the bed he removed a pillow from it's case and poured the frosted plums into the sack. Rose tied this sack to his waist and made way for the door. When he opened the door he would search for Neia.
When Rose reached the location of Neia, the first thing she could hear were the boots lightly clapping on the floors. When Neia finally takes notice of Rose, she notices that he does not look like a boy on his feet and in his new garments. Rose looks like a warrior, one of sophistication and a predator.
The young mans fluorescent white hair fell straight down the sides of his head till it touched his shoulders while two thick bangs crossed over his face. These bangs fell directly over the center of Rose's silver eyes that carried a more lively glare in them. His skin had changed from a sickly pale to a pale more like not getting enough sunlight. His lips were a peach color instead of the sickly purple they once were, but not like the rosy pink lips he had before. The young mans appearance was much different and Neia would probably look twice at Rose and his body groping armor plated leather armor.
Rose would bow to Neia by lowering his head to her. At first, Rose closed his eyes, but when he opened them, he found something else in his line of sight that perked a juvenile interest as he was still a virgin. When Rose caught himself staring at her bosom from the shadows of his lowered head, he knew he was still alive. The depression and morbidness that filled his mind had washed away. He still had his thoughts and memories, but it was like he shut them off with a switch when he put on his new garments and decided he was going to do something. Rose never claimed to be perfect and even with his changes, he was still a young male with more issues than his Darkness within. Never the less, the marveling of the two gloriful frosty moons known as Neia's breast hidden behind her garments assured him he was still partially human and still alive.
Rose stared for a moment before the thought of bowing too long might make he suspicious or what she would do if she caught him staring. He blinked his eyes a few times and looked up at Neia. He would give her ample time to say something, but when the time came, he would speak.
"I will understand if you say no, but I would like to leave for a day. I feel stronger and more alive than I have ever felt before and I have something I need to do before it is too late. I invited your owl, but I don't know if an owl would want to go where I am going." Rose spoke in a soft and polite tone that carried a subtle bass tone in it; just enough to give him a proper male voice of a 15 year old.
When he was done speaking, Rose noticed the other beings in the room. He didn't know them, nor was he interested in them at this moment. His attention would stay focused on Neia, giving the other the 'cold-shoulder' towards the existence.
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Kinzokan Krypt
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 129
Physical Description: Kinzokan Krypt is a seven foot tall beast of muscle, violent scars and a wild mane of dark hair. Almost legendary for his status as a veteran of many battlefields, Krypt is known for his exceptional skill and combat prowess and because of his dark, ashen-coloured skin he is referred to in mercenary circles as "Kinzokan the Black".
He originally hailed from a volcanic land devastated by fire, brimstone, magma and ash and as such, his people are known as the Ashkin. Due to spending their entire lives surrounded by scorching heat and with little water that isn't boiling or steamed, the Ashkin are nigh impervious to fire and its effects and their skin has thus thickened and hardened into an almost naturally armoured hide. Such is the toughness of an Ashkin that only the sharpest of weapons, or the strongest of their wielders, could cut deep and hard enough to draw blood or cause serious injury. Yet in the volcanic wastes, such a defense isn't only advantageous, but necessary - for each day would bring the Ashkin tribes into contact with the aggressive, giant, reptilian monsters who ruled the ashlands as ever-starving kings.
Registered: Nov 10, 2015 20:24:36 GMT -8
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Post by Kinzokan Krypt on May 31, 2016 10:18:01 GMT -8
One hundred Kinzokan Krypts marched up the mountain towards Neia's fortress, each one of them built from the ice of Neia's storms except for the man at the front who was made instead of grey flesh and more refined features. Chained and part of the convoy were great beasts, taller than a man yet much thicker and much stronger; their sharp teeth and claws glinting in the sun while the thick white fur that covered every inch of them made them difficult to see in all the snow.
They looked frightened.
Lost, taken from their homes and many of their families slaughtered by the very ice soldiers that now marched them towards a foreboding and unknown place. They were mere children, yet more than this they came from a peaceful race that completely mismatched the assumptions brought on by the way they looked and moved. They looked like troll beasts, like monsters.. And perhaps they were, but many of them were also shaking and crying.
The doors to Neia's castle approached them now and Krypt turned, ordering the trolls to be taken away and stored in a room more befitting of beasts. Only one troll remained with him, the one whose chain he took in his hand and led inside through the halls of sparkling ice until open double doors revealed Neia in her throne room alongside other figures he had yet to meet. He paid them no mind, pushing through any that stood in his way and leading the large troll child down the middle of her grand chamber and over to where Neia was seated on her throne.
"I have brought you pets, Neia," he told her, gesturing to the chained and shackled beast as it looked down at the ground and sniffed. "This is but one of them. Docile creatures, yet incredibly strong... These are the children, yet as large as they are their parents are twice the size - if not more. They'll be easy to train for our purposes and perfect for battering down the gates of the enemy. I hope you are pleased."
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Deleted
Roleplay posts: 0
Registered: May 18, 2024 6:41:27 GMT -8
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Post by Deleted on May 31, 2016 11:09:08 GMT -8
She watched him with those glacial eyes of hers, watched as this proud and true lupine warrior walked across her magnificent frigid halls until he was at the foot of her stairs. She sat upon her throne like she was born to it (which, in her opinion, she was), a beautiful portrait of power surrounding in white and silver hues.
The temperature was sub-zero, and even as he knelt at her feet – a humbling gesture for him, she could see – frost tried to creep up his fur while he was stationary. Floe, of course, her beloved little jester, immediately began to crack at Fenrir’s mental hide, and Neia allowed it to go on for a moment before she spoke.
“Floe. Such a lack of manners,” she chided him. The Fae, of course, were known for their high priority on manners, especially that of hospitality. To cross a line or give intended rudeness to the guest of the Fae, or the hospitable Fae yourself, most times meant certain death. Such tricky creatures they were, and Neia prided herself on being one of the trickiest.
“That is no way to treat a guest,” she went on to say, “and such an esteemed one as well.” Oh yes, she was enjoying the power she held over Fenrir and his tribe, the tribe she was aware was at her palace gates. The same way that Fenrir smelled her terrifying power, she could sense the warmness of him and those that were upon the very mountain itself.
The Frost Queen pushed up from her throne, and her starlight hair sparkled, the icy diamonds on her low-cut bodice shining, the whisper of her elegant snow-white gown sliding down her legs as she stepped, stepped, stepped down the stairs, closer and closer to where Fenrir was bowed.
“Do you know what it means to pledge yourself to the Fae?” she asked of Fenrir, standing before him for a moment before she slowly circled. “It is not a pact to take lightly, and not one that can be broken as you would any other creature. In fact, breaking it may cause your death,” she said with a chiming laugh as if it were a game she played. And to her, it was.
“Of course, it means quite a promise on my end as well. Who is this terror that sends such an astounding, mmm… virile creature, such as yourself to come upon his knees at my feet?” She asked, and her voice was like the frosted plums she so favored; sweet, but with a soft chill to her words. She reached out and touched the ‘chin’ of Fenrir’s maw, to tip his face up so that he looked into the swirling, enchanting blue depths of her eyes.
And then, of course. She was interrupted.
The young man that she had rescued from the cold upon her mountain, Rose Merosiky. He appeared, clothed in tight black leather, and his gaze focused on her… gloriful frosty moons. The vain fae was pleased for a moment, and then annoyed the next and snapped her fingers loudly, the sound thundering out in the large and spacious throne room—so loud for a moment that it made the chandeliers above them chime ominously.
“Speak, child,” she commanded of him, and then heard his request. She tipped her chin up, starlight hair swaying. “Go, then. My owl will accompany you,” she said with a wave of her hand, dismissing him. His change may have made him more masculine, but he was still but a boy of 15, and she had many examples around her of men in their prime. He would have to do more to catch her attention than wearing body groping armor.
“And Rose?” she said after she had turned away from the boy. “Do not come back empty handed.” She looked at him over her shoulder, the beauty of her fae glamour hitting him full force, her eyes framed with thick lashes, her plum-red lips lush, her skin as pure as the driven snow, “Make me proud.”
And that fae spell of beauty and grace fell upon Fenrir once more, waiting his answer, even as the doors entered and Krypt came in with a beast on a chain leash. Without even looking away from Fenrir’s lupine face, she waved a hand and ice slithered like a serpent across the ground of her throne room until it struck at the gentle giant Krypt was leading in.
The ice crackled and popped as it quickly crawled up the troll’s frame, thick and dark, even leaping onto the chain and wrapping around Krypt’s grey-skinned fist.
“I am not finished,” she called to him, her voice suddenly as loud as the snap she had given to Rose. She lowered her hand, and smiled at Fenrir. If either Rose OR Krypt tried to interrupt her again, there would be sore consequences. If she truly was their queen, then they would respect the business she was currently attending.
“You were saying?” Neia asked Fenrir, her voice once more calm and silken.
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Fenrir Skargard
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 196
Age: 29
Physical Description: Fenrir is a large Arctic Werewolf, with fur as white as the snow that plagues his habitat. His paws and muzzle are stained a slight pinkish color from the bloody nature of his food, primarily Caribou and Mountain Seal. His yellow eyes are predatory, and would be terrifying to see in the darkness of a cave or blizzard. He stands roughly 7ft tall, and weighs nearly 300lbs. His fur, claws, and teeth are immaculately well-maintained, as the Wolf believes that keeping oneself clean is foremost in respecting another, for if you do not respect yourself, you cannot respect others.
Clothes and Equipment: He wields the mighty sword White Fang, a Frost-Enchanted Sword he took from the lifeless corpse of a White Witch whom had promised him the sword, then tried to kill him with. The sword, imbued with the blood of the witch, gives him abilities similar to hers, mainly focusing on cold and frost related abilities. His legs are covered by plate armor, and his left arm is covered in a gauntlet with fingers ending in wicked looking claws. The gauntlet is inscribed with more Frost Runes, giving it similar, albeit less powerful, abilities to White Fang.
Registered: May 30, 2016 8:38:38 GMT -8
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Post by Fenrir Skargard on May 31, 2016 11:23:15 GMT -8
In any other court, or any other place, sich interruptions would have been met with death at the hands of the powerful wolf. Wolves too were big about respect, and one's manners were a method of showing that respect. He kept his cool though, such creatures and people did not even register as threatening to the wolf, veteran of numerous campaigns.
The Frost Queen's gaze was captivating, and a lesser mortal perhaps would have been ensnared by it, but not Fenrir, for he was mighty in will. Even then, it took nearly all his willpower to not entirely succumb to it.
"I know not what this threat is, the star-runes are vague my Queen, and I am not the one who reads them. They told only of a great threat that could destroy my tribe. And so I seek out those stronger than myself, in the hope that they will help protect my tribe. A possible death for a broken oath is better than a certain one at the hands of an unknow force."
His voice was deep yet passionate, reflecting the truth in his statement. He was at the mercy of the Frost Queen and knew it, but all she would see in his eyes was determination and fight, this was not a wolf to cower meekly in a corner. This was a wolf who made his enemies cower in the corner.
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Floe
New
Up your's fleshy!
Roleplay posts: 6
Age: Well I forgets!
Physical Description: He has the appearance of a normal innocent snowman from afar, until they come close and see vicious teeth of ice, an ice covered and now sharpened carrot for a nose, and eyes of coal that can seem to produce smoke, and (moving) stick hands that create an "evil vibe." He is about 5 feet (although this is including the fact that he is permanently hunched).
Clothes and Equipment: His stick hands often carry some sort of nasty knife with a serrated edge, spiked knuckles and a gut hook to be as vicious of a weapon as possible. He sometimes carries balls of ice with hail or pebbles inside to throw as a sort of shrapnel bomb.
Registered: May 30, 2016 14:43:18 GMT -8
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Post by Floe on May 31, 2016 12:41:01 GMT -8
The snowman nodded upon reprimand. "Aye Lady, your wish is my - and soon to be - everyone's command." He would keep his crooked carrot nose pointed at the Wolfman however, for it was the only way to let it be known that he was staring.
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Rose Merosiky
Established
Roleplay posts: 46
Age: 15
Physical Description: Height: 5'8"
Skin: Pale
Eye Color: Silver
Hair Color: Fluorescent white
Powers: Unknown
Personality: Uknown
Clothes and Equipment: Enchanted leather suit with armor plating as muscular padding to prevent movement restriction while being able to sustain an attack. Knee high strapped boots. Black leather gloves. Magical pendant.
Registered: May 23, 2016 17:41:12 GMT -8
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Post by Rose Merosiky on May 31, 2016 19:07:22 GMT -8
A crooked smile crept across the face of Rose as he was told not to come back empty handed. He knew what he was coming back with and he was sure it would make her proud. He stood at attention with his chest puffed out trying to carry himself like the other men. His muscles were not like theirs, his were only half the size of theirs even with the armor plating.
"I will come back with more than one man can carry and warriors to tend to your enemies with." Rose spoke before he left to tend to his personal quest.
Rose left the room without looking at the others, currently having little care for who they were. Faster than he came in, he was gone. He returned to his room and stuck his arm out to the owl so that it might perch on the armor plate that covered the the upper and under of his forearm. Should the bird have perched on his arm, he would lift it up to stare it in the eyes. With this stare, Rose was trying to bond with it like his people did with the wolves from his home.
Whether or not it worked, he tried to communicate again, "First step, find the front door. Jumping out the window isn't a great idea. You would be fine, but i'd probably die."
Rose searched for the front door and when he found them, they opened up by themselves to let him out. With the doors shutting behind him, Rose stood in the cold looking out. Rose would walk around the castle till he found the way down where he would seek out what remains of his tribe.
"I hope you don't scare easy, Sir Hoot. I promise I will keep you safe. I have to see if of my friends are still alive...", Rose spoke to the owl, naming it and going on for awhile about how beautiful the forests were where they were going.
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Deleted
Roleplay posts: 0
Registered: May 18, 2024 6:41:27 GMT -8
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Post by Deleted on Jun 1, 2016 7:39:05 GMT -8
"Possible death?" Neia asked with a warm laugh, the smile on her face breathtaking and beautiful. "You're charming."
She moved away from the Alpha Wolf, a being so virile and masculine that she could feel a feminine answer deep in her core to him. It wasn't that he was sending out the signals -- indeed, it almost felt like he was insulted to be here -- but the Fae were creatures, too, and had needs as primal as any other.
Her gaze caught onto Krypt, a broad-shouldered, grey-skin warrior of legendary standards. Primal Indeed.
"I accept," she told Fenrir Skargard, her voice ringing loud and true through the throne room. As she said the words, he'd be able to feel a deep magical bond binding their fates together, and upon his chest he'd suddenly feel the light weight of a beautiful, icy pendant.
Neia, for her part, continued to walk away from Fenrir and towards dear Floe, reaching out to caress a hand over his head while she looked over her shoulder at the Alpha Wolf. "I have just conquered the City of Aramoor at the base of my mountain. I want you to round up those you think worthy and train them to be as merciless with the blade as surely your tribe must be. Then, when you are ready, I want you to ride to the nearest villages and inform them of their new queen."
Her soft hand continued to caress and stroke over Floe's head. If he had had hair, her touch would have been that of a mother stroking it away from a favored child's forehead. Her swirling blue gaze was steady upon Fenrir's face. "Where you go, my frost will travel with you and claim the land. There is a fortress city of the name of Perigrine. Leave that one to me."
Her beautiful head tipped to the side as she regarded Fenrir. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"
The question was... suggestive.
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Deleted
Roleplay posts: 0
Registered: May 18, 2024 6:41:27 GMT -8
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Post by Deleted on Jun 1, 2016 7:42:37 GMT -8
To Rose:
The owl understood him and understood him well. It was no mere owl, and surely Rose must know it. Still, the owl did accompany the young would-be warrior, as if it had become the boy's familiar. Sir Hoot had it tipping its head. All the same, it was willing to go off with Rose on his adventure.
To the Crimson Fool:
The palatial doors opened to allow the man inside the beautiful frozen depths of the Frost Queen's castle, and little snow sprites seemed to form from mid air, chirping a little at him and flitting around his face, curious about his mask and his clothing.
Their little hands picked and prodded as their wings beat as quickly as a humming birds, soft, chilly winds blowing from them as they zipped by the Crimson Fool's masked face in their discovery of him.
The palace was silent, with not even a single echo to greet him, but the snow sprites gestures for him to follow and led him towards a grand hall where silent frozen armored guards stood guard between large, ornately carved snow columns.
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Fenrir Skargard
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 196
Age: 29
Physical Description: Fenrir is a large Arctic Werewolf, with fur as white as the snow that plagues his habitat. His paws and muzzle are stained a slight pinkish color from the bloody nature of his food, primarily Caribou and Mountain Seal. His yellow eyes are predatory, and would be terrifying to see in the darkness of a cave or blizzard. He stands roughly 7ft tall, and weighs nearly 300lbs. His fur, claws, and teeth are immaculately well-maintained, as the Wolf believes that keeping oneself clean is foremost in respecting another, for if you do not respect yourself, you cannot respect others.
Clothes and Equipment: He wields the mighty sword White Fang, a Frost-Enchanted Sword he took from the lifeless corpse of a White Witch whom had promised him the sword, then tried to kill him with. The sword, imbued with the blood of the witch, gives him abilities similar to hers, mainly focusing on cold and frost related abilities. His legs are covered by plate armor, and his left arm is covered in a gauntlet with fingers ending in wicked looking claws. The gauntlet is inscribed with more Frost Runes, giving it similar, albeit less powerful, abilities to White Fang.
Registered: May 30, 2016 8:38:38 GMT -8
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Post by Fenrir Skargard on Jun 1, 2016 9:11:44 GMT -8
Her last question caught him by surprise. He understood the implications completely, and pondered what the results of such a thing could be. He was already bound to her, so it couldnt get worse, but if simply by agreeing verbally to a deal she had bound them together then what effect would mating with her have? Could it make him stronger? The possibility was well worth it. No point in outright saying it though, not with the incompetent fools around at least.
He stood, rising from his kneeling position and meeting her gaze with a predatory one of his own.
"Very well My Queen, it shall be done. And if your Majesty has the chance I should like an opportunity to get to know her...better" The word unsaid there was "carnally" but the meaning was well implied.
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Deleted
Roleplay posts: 0
Registered: May 18, 2024 6:41:27 GMT -8
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Post by Deleted on Jun 1, 2016 9:42:54 GMT -8
The Fool giggled at the little spirits as they tried to pick at his clothing. They would find it an interesting challenge. The cloth always seeming to shift or slip away from grasping hands. One of his hands flex he has a desire to grasp on of the little things and devour it. He should abstain for the the moment though, it wouldn't do to eat the Queens servants. He follows the little things, but they go rather slowly. Evidently her majesty wasn't ready for him just yet.
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Kinzokan Krypt
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 129
Physical Description: Kinzokan Krypt is a seven foot tall beast of muscle, violent scars and a wild mane of dark hair. Almost legendary for his status as a veteran of many battlefields, Krypt is known for his exceptional skill and combat prowess and because of his dark, ashen-coloured skin he is referred to in mercenary circles as "Kinzokan the Black".
He originally hailed from a volcanic land devastated by fire, brimstone, magma and ash and as such, his people are known as the Ashkin. Due to spending their entire lives surrounded by scorching heat and with little water that isn't boiling or steamed, the Ashkin are nigh impervious to fire and its effects and their skin has thus thickened and hardened into an almost naturally armoured hide. Such is the toughness of an Ashkin that only the sharpest of weapons, or the strongest of their wielders, could cut deep and hard enough to draw blood or cause serious injury. Yet in the volcanic wastes, such a defense isn't only advantageous, but necessary - for each day would bring the Ashkin tribes into contact with the aggressive, giant, reptilian monsters who ruled the ashlands as ever-starving kings.
Registered: Nov 10, 2015 20:24:36 GMT -8
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Post by Kinzokan Krypt on Jun 1, 2016 10:21:47 GMT -8
Krypt was no fool and as he listened to the conversation between The Frost Queen and Fenrir, he narrowed his brows and pulled his arm free from the ice that had encased it. With unmatched stubbornness, he left the troll there on the floor and moved up to Neia and the wolf, his large and bulking form rising taller than every other individual in the room; albeit only an inch or two above Fenrir. Even the troll was only a little bigger than him, though one could very easily imagine that Krypt had far more muscle than it did.
"She has no need to know mongrel dogs any more than she would a pet," he warned, his voice deep and heavy as he moved to Neia's side. "Though if the mutt believes otherwise, I have no quarrels with making a new coat to wear in the snow."
He imagined Neia would be pleased by the jealousy he was showing, if not amused by the prospect of two beings coming to blows over her. Even so she was a fickle woman and it was hard to truly tell what her reaction would be.. He could only hope for the best and push on with that in mind. With no fear in him, he reached an arm around Neia's waist to hold her as delicately as he could; which was rather firmly to most.
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Floe
New
Up your's fleshy!
Roleplay posts: 6
Age: Well I forgets!
Physical Description: He has the appearance of a normal innocent snowman from afar, until they come close and see vicious teeth of ice, an ice covered and now sharpened carrot for a nose, and eyes of coal that can seem to produce smoke, and (moving) stick hands that create an "evil vibe." He is about 5 feet (although this is including the fact that he is permanently hunched).
Clothes and Equipment: His stick hands often carry some sort of nasty knife with a serrated edge, spiked knuckles and a gut hook to be as vicious of a weapon as possible. He sometimes carries balls of ice with hail or pebbles inside to throw as a sort of shrapnel bomb.
Registered: May 30, 2016 14:43:18 GMT -8
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Post by Floe on Jun 1, 2016 11:17:34 GMT -8
The little snowman enjoyed the drama. He was liking the somewhat brutish ways of Krypt but having vicious dogs could be good too. He smiled as the Queen touched his forehead, and grinned at both the Wolf and Krypt, since neither realized that while they were fighting he was getting the affection of his Queen. The irony of it made it all the more enjoyable.
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Deleted
Roleplay posts: 0
Registered: May 18, 2024 6:41:27 GMT -8
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Post by Deleted on Jun 1, 2016 18:22:00 GMT -8
She was not all that surprised when the Alpha wolf responded to her come hither glances and sultry tone; Neia got what she wanted, and as of this moment, her whim fancied wolf warrior. She had really only asked the question to test the waters, and now that she'd found them receptive, new wheels began to turn in her head.
She had, however, noticed the way Krypt stalked across the throne room floor, jealousy openly read in the ripple of his muscles and the rough tone of his voice. She wasn't surprised by that either, and she found herself absurdly pleased that she was such a prize that two take-charge males might actually come to blows.
Krypt's powerful arm came around Neia's waist, drawing her to his side. Although she was cool upon her flesh, she was still as soft and supple as any comely woman, and Krypt knew from experience that there were certain parts of her that definitely ran.... hot. Would Fenrir learn this as well?
"Children," Neia chided them both, although Krypt had been the aggressor. She moved out of Krypt's embrace, although the light touch of her frost still lingered upon him, "I don't have time for petty games," she told them, stepping back towards Floe and letting her idle hand caress down the Snowman's side again. "Fight yourselves bloody on your own time, for now... you have warriors to train," she said to Fenrir, and those long-lashed eyes settled on his-- warm. Hot.
And then her gaze traveled over to Krypt, "And you, my darling, have brought me a gift," the Frost Queen said with a little smile. And her eyes upon him... oh, she was pleased by the troll. And when Neia was pleased, good things happened.
Still, she turned to Floe. "There's a masked man walking around my castle," she told the snowy construct, leaning over to gently cup his face (and of course, as she did, soft and delicious parts of Neia pushed together over the deep neckline of her glittering gown). "Be a darling and see he's welcomed," she told Floe, and kissed the top of his head.
The Crimson Fool was not immediately led to the throne room. The Snow Sprites liked to toy with visitors just as much as their mistress did, but they could tell from the aura of him that he must certainly have been important. They could have led him through the ever-changing maze of the palace, but they didn't, instead just slowing down their walk until Floe could reach them, not so very far away from the throne room where Neia held her audience.
"You had me worried," Neia said to Krypt as she walked down the throne room towards the troll still frozen where it was. It was then that she noticed the panicked and frightened expression on the creature's face. A brow perked on hers. "Perhaps you still do. What is this?"
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Fenrir Skargard
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 196
Age: 29
Physical Description: Fenrir is a large Arctic Werewolf, with fur as white as the snow that plagues his habitat. His paws and muzzle are stained a slight pinkish color from the bloody nature of his food, primarily Caribou and Mountain Seal. His yellow eyes are predatory, and would be terrifying to see in the darkness of a cave or blizzard. He stands roughly 7ft tall, and weighs nearly 300lbs. His fur, claws, and teeth are immaculately well-maintained, as the Wolf believes that keeping oneself clean is foremost in respecting another, for if you do not respect yourself, you cannot respect others.
Clothes and Equipment: He wields the mighty sword White Fang, a Frost-Enchanted Sword he took from the lifeless corpse of a White Witch whom had promised him the sword, then tried to kill him with. The sword, imbued with the blood of the witch, gives him abilities similar to hers, mainly focusing on cold and frost related abilities. His legs are covered by plate armor, and his left arm is covered in a gauntlet with fingers ending in wicked looking claws. The gauntlet is inscribed with more Frost Runes, giving it similar, albeit less powerful, abilities to White Fang.
Registered: May 30, 2016 8:38:38 GMT -8
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Post by Fenrir Skargard on Jun 1, 2016 18:52:41 GMT -8
Neia's gaze may have hekd the promises of pleasure, but the petty jealousy and ineptness of her other servants had killed any lustful desires of his for the time being. The look in his eyes simoly showed his derision for Krypt's disolay of jealousy. Fenrir had no need to prove himself here. He had done that already, battling the Bears of Jarlnor, nearly eradicating the Frost Vampires and ridding the Northern Wastes of the White Witches.
"I shall leave at once my Queen. He dipped his head towards her respectfully before turning around and marching quickly out of the palace. His warriors would immediately surround him as he exited the palace, and he gave them the overview of what happened as they headed towards the City of Aramoor.
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Kinzokan Krypt
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 129
Physical Description: Kinzokan Krypt is a seven foot tall beast of muscle, violent scars and a wild mane of dark hair. Almost legendary for his status as a veteran of many battlefields, Krypt is known for his exceptional skill and combat prowess and because of his dark, ashen-coloured skin he is referred to in mercenary circles as "Kinzokan the Black".
He originally hailed from a volcanic land devastated by fire, brimstone, magma and ash and as such, his people are known as the Ashkin. Due to spending their entire lives surrounded by scorching heat and with little water that isn't boiling or steamed, the Ashkin are nigh impervious to fire and its effects and their skin has thus thickened and hardened into an almost naturally armoured hide. Such is the toughness of an Ashkin that only the sharpest of weapons, or the strongest of their wielders, could cut deep and hard enough to draw blood or cause serious injury. Yet in the volcanic wastes, such a defense isn't only advantageous, but necessary - for each day would bring the Ashkin tribes into contact with the aggressive, giant, reptilian monsters who ruled the ashlands as ever-starving kings.
Registered: Nov 10, 2015 20:24:36 GMT -8
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Post by Kinzokan Krypt on Jun 1, 2016 21:59:42 GMT -8
Watching silently as Fenrir and his warriors left the room, Krypt turned back to Neia with a satisfied look upon his face and walked with her over to the ice troll that she seemed so pleased by. He moved behind her, his hands placed softly upon her shoulders while she looked over her new prize... Though admittedly she expressed some sort of concern over it; likely the fact it appeared to be terrified.
"These, my love, are 'ice trolls'. These are mere children, with adults growing twice, if not three times larger than this beast. I brought almost twenty of them back with me, but they are a surprisingly docile race; they will be easy to train, easy to turn into monsters of war for your army, or pets for your amusement. Of course as with all new pets, they are scared until they get used to their new home."
His hands slid down and came to rest at the top of her arms, where he then leaned down into her ear and whispered, "we need to speak privately."
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Floe
New
Up your's fleshy!
Roleplay posts: 6
Age: Well I forgets!
Physical Description: He has the appearance of a normal innocent snowman from afar, until they come close and see vicious teeth of ice, an ice covered and now sharpened carrot for a nose, and eyes of coal that can seem to produce smoke, and (moving) stick hands that create an "evil vibe." He is about 5 feet (although this is including the fact that he is permanently hunched).
Clothes and Equipment: His stick hands often carry some sort of nasty knife with a serrated edge, spiked knuckles and a gut hook to be as vicious of a weapon as possible. He sometimes carries balls of ice with hail or pebbles inside to throw as a sort of shrapnel bomb.
Registered: May 30, 2016 14:43:18 GMT -8
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Post by Floe on Jun 2, 2016 8:21:34 GMT -8
"Yes ma'am, I'll make sure 'e gets a 'warm' welcome!" With that he knuckles off to the masked man.
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Grenzhilkaxic
New
Roleplay posts: 6
Registered: Jun 12, 2016 13:44:41 GMT -8
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Post by Grenzhilkaxic on Jun 12, 2016 14:45:19 GMT -8
An interesting thing caught Grenzhilikaxic's sharp eyes as he flew onward over the Norkari Mountains. An unnatural storm covered the peak of a single mountain. The storm did not move as he approached, but continue to pound the single location with snow and wind. A winter storm was nothing Gren was worried about, but an obviously magical one like this was probably hiding something.
Gaining altitude, Gren flew up above the gathered storm clouds, further into the chill air. From above, he spied what the cloud was a hiding. A castle, made entirely of ice, dominated the peak of the single mountain. The mana keeping the storm active flowed outward from the spires of the castle itself. It smelled of fey magic. Powerful fey magic. But this wasn't like the temple or the chalet he had seen previously. This magic was powerful, but it was just fey, and fey had weaknesses.
"This too, will become mine," he said to himself, wheeling about and flying back towards his new home.
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