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The Stone of Abramelin; Open to anyone
Topic Started: May 16 2017, 08:42 PM (30 Views)
Dhar'leth
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Mors Principium Est
Dhar'leth grinned as he perceived the long shadows cast in the light of the streets torches, attempting to approach him from the rear. His full bow-lips parted to reveal two long, sharp, animalistic fangs. Bestial and brutal, juxtaposed against the almost regal finery in which he was garbed. A beast in human flesh and form, skin and muscle magically affixed to the lich who had long since seen his mortal body rot in the grave.

He turned on his heels and drew his sword in time to parry an anticipated blow. The attacker stumbled as his strike was blocked by the more masterful swordsman. Riposte! Dhar'leth's long blade drew quickly across the scalp of his attacker, slicing the skin to the skull. The assassin gasped in surprise, the blood already streaming from the top of his head and obscuring his vision as the crimson fluid flowed down his forehead and into his eyes. He dropped his weapon as he held his mutilated head in shock. Dhar'leth did not wait even a moment, he plunged his bloodied blade through his would-be killer's eye and into the brain. The assailant dropped, all life drained from his body.

Three more men, blades drawn and eager to kill, awaited their turn but a few steps behind the dead man. Two attacked in unison, eager to avenge their fallen brother. A flash of steel and a second lay dying on the floor, his stomach opened and his entrails exposed upon the cobblestone. He writhed in his own gore and filth, vainly attempting to claw back his severed innards as his lifeblood pooled about him. Dhar'leth stepped past the attack and ducked skilfully under the clumsy axe-swing of the third man and answered with his own attack, severing the tendons and musculature of the knee with a trailing cut from the false edge of his sword. The axeman dropped to his knees in defeat, he did not perceive the thrust that pierced the back of his skull and exited with a spurt of blood through his forehead.

The final malefactor felt his adrenaline spike and charged, his sword tightly gripped in both hands, intending to slay where his brothers-in-arms had failed and died. The assassin held his great blade above his head, readying a cleaving blow. He swung downwards at his target, a massive blow that would have rendered Dhar'leth in twain, but the fiend was too fast. The greatswordsman perceived a quick movement cross his line of attack and his sword dropped from his hands. Puzzlement crossed the half-masked face of the assassin as he gazed at his empty hands - a majority of his fingers had been cut away and lay at his feet, rendering him impotent and helpless. A clawed hand pulled his head back from behind before bestial fangs ripped out his jugular vein, carotid artery, and most of his windpipe in one fell bite. The last assassin futilely gripped at his neck to stop the great flow of blood as his world turned to blackness and he join his expired brethren prostrate on the cold stone.

Dhar'leth drew from his deep coat pocket a lace handkerchief and with a well-practiced motion removed the vital liquid from his blade and in the same movement discarded the gore-stained cloth with a whimsical, aristocratic flourish. He looked around the gorey scene and perceived that a small crowd had formed. Assessing the situation, he drew from his pocket a highly illustrated map. The ancient scroll seemed to glow incandescent even in the dim torch-light and then dimmed almost into nothingness, almost as if it flitted in an out of material existence. Dhar'leth deigned to speak, every word perfectly-formed and enunciated with the precision of an ancient sage and the grandeur of an emperor, "This . . . this trinket." He peered at the map, his gaze affixing upon the image of a grand gemstone, unsure as to whether he was addressing it or the small crowd gathered before him. "This is what these men died for, in vain. It is a map leading to an ancient treasure, and I will have its prize." He looked now into the throng of transfixed townsmen, his cold blue-grey eyes scanning for a worthy mark. "Is there any among you who would quest with me for such an ancient and priceless treasure? The danger of this path is equaled only by its reward. If you live, your wealth will put a high king to shame. The Stone of Abramelin the Mage, long thought a mere legend, awaits me beneath this very city . . . and for you, whatever riches accompany it are yours. I care not for gold and diamonds, only the stone."
Edited by Dhar'leth, May 16 2017, 08:43 PM.
Name | Dhar'leth
Gender | Male
Race | Deified Lich
[former Vampire]


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edited by: Sir's Signature Repair Shop


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