Creamsteak
Explorer
It's fine.
-
The VOIDRUNNER'S CODEX is LIVE! Explore new worlds, fight oppressive empires, fend off fearsome aliens, and wield deadly psionics with this comprehensive boxed set expansion for 5E and A5E!
Higher Level Psionics PbP (Demon with a Glass Hand)
- Thread starter Creamsteak
- Start date
Bloodweaver1
First Post
Is there anything that you would like to see from what I have submitted? Did I miss your feed back?Creamsteak said:
-Blood
Insight
Adventurer
[sblock=Mad Prophet]THE STORY OF THE MAD PROPHET
The story of the Mad Prophet harkens back to before the founding of the Black Rock Monastery. In those days, the Old Gods held sway. A group of monks following Antonidas broke from the establishment and formed their own order, which would eventually become Black Rock Monastery. The monks, led by High Elder Hedronus, along with eight other monks (whose names have been lost to the sands of time) comprised the founding members of the order.
One of the founding members, who came to be known as the Shining Prophet, demonstrated the ability to speak directly with Antonidas. This monk rose to a place of prominence, though his existence was often hidden from the outside world for fear the prophet would be killed or imprisoned for heresy. The Shining Prophet tired of his captivity, however, and, after a falling out with the High Elder, left Black Rock Monastery, not to return for some time.
Several generations later, as time went on, the order told history their own way, and recast the Shining Prophet as the Mad Prophet, and assigned the prophet certain characteristics and behavior that may or may not have been true (for example, the order's histories tell that the Mad Prophet destroyed all of the scrolls in the Black Rock library, thus the reason for the lack of ancient history on the foundation of the order). The Shining Prophet's ability to speak with Antonidas became a viral madness that threatened to consume the order, and the elders were forced to throw the prophet out of Black Rock Monastery lest he bring it down from within.
Meanwhile, the Shining Prophet had crossed the wastes, and traveled to far away Sohr Sakahl, a desolate place of great inherent power, but feared by locals. Here too, the nomads and residents of the area called the prophet mad, but dared not confront him. In Sohr Sakahl, the prophet built a great stone tower, seemingly with his bare hands and sheer force of will. Within the great tower, the Shining Prophet remained for generations.
After many generations, after the worship of the Old Gods had fallen out of favor, the Shining Prophet returned to Black Rock Monastery. Though only a single man (albeit incredibly long-lived), the Shining Prophet demanded that Black Rock Monastery return to its rightful place as a bastion for the worshippers of Antonidas. The prophet was greeted instead by a cadre of the current elders, including a descendant of High Elder Hedronus, who did battle with the prophet. The result of this battle is in dispute; the order's histories record that the Mad Prophet was driven away in humiliation, but rumor has it that the prophet instead slew all of the elders and left on his own.
Whatever the case, the tales of the Mad Prophet of Antonidas slipped from fact, into rumor, and into legend, and would have completely vanished had the prophet not reappeared some time later to reclaim his rightful place in the world. Some say that the Mad Prophet had become a god himself, or an avatar of Antonidas, or a ghost, but in any case, could not leave his tower. Instead, the Mad Prophet attracted and trained an 'apprentice' who would be his representative in the material world. The Mad Prophet would keep only one such representative at a time, and these men and women, usually drawn from the ranks of his former monastic order, would act on the Mad Prophet's behalf, using the power of local legend and fear of the great unknown to achieve the Mad Prophet's motives.
While his apprentices have historically been mum on the subject, reasonable people who comment on the subject do not believe the prophet to truly be mad. His motives clearly involve the worship of Antonidas, even in this day and age when the Old Gods have all but passed into memory. When pressed on this issue, the prophet's representatives have let it be known that the prophet's motives are his own and often beyond the comprehension of mere mortals. The prophet's representatives have been well trained and treated well, though a few have strayed and attempted to betray their master's trust, only to meet with an untimely end.
The monks of Black Rock Monastery have a vested interest in keeping the story of the Mad Prophet alive, as it is whispered in places that the prophet knows secrets that can bring down the order, and it is only a matter of time before the prophet lets these secrets become public knowledge. It is for that reason that the monastery continues to perpetuate the stories of the prophet's madness; it is for their own survival.[/sblock]
The story of the Mad Prophet harkens back to before the founding of the Black Rock Monastery. In those days, the Old Gods held sway. A group of monks following Antonidas broke from the establishment and formed their own order, which would eventually become Black Rock Monastery. The monks, led by High Elder Hedronus, along with eight other monks (whose names have been lost to the sands of time) comprised the founding members of the order.
One of the founding members, who came to be known as the Shining Prophet, demonstrated the ability to speak directly with Antonidas. This monk rose to a place of prominence, though his existence was often hidden from the outside world for fear the prophet would be killed or imprisoned for heresy. The Shining Prophet tired of his captivity, however, and, after a falling out with the High Elder, left Black Rock Monastery, not to return for some time.
Several generations later, as time went on, the order told history their own way, and recast the Shining Prophet as the Mad Prophet, and assigned the prophet certain characteristics and behavior that may or may not have been true (for example, the order's histories tell that the Mad Prophet destroyed all of the scrolls in the Black Rock library, thus the reason for the lack of ancient history on the foundation of the order). The Shining Prophet's ability to speak with Antonidas became a viral madness that threatened to consume the order, and the elders were forced to throw the prophet out of Black Rock Monastery lest he bring it down from within.
Meanwhile, the Shining Prophet had crossed the wastes, and traveled to far away Sohr Sakahl, a desolate place of great inherent power, but feared by locals. Here too, the nomads and residents of the area called the prophet mad, but dared not confront him. In Sohr Sakahl, the prophet built a great stone tower, seemingly with his bare hands and sheer force of will. Within the great tower, the Shining Prophet remained for generations.
After many generations, after the worship of the Old Gods had fallen out of favor, the Shining Prophet returned to Black Rock Monastery. Though only a single man (albeit incredibly long-lived), the Shining Prophet demanded that Black Rock Monastery return to its rightful place as a bastion for the worshippers of Antonidas. The prophet was greeted instead by a cadre of the current elders, including a descendant of High Elder Hedronus, who did battle with the prophet. The result of this battle is in dispute; the order's histories record that the Mad Prophet was driven away in humiliation, but rumor has it that the prophet instead slew all of the elders and left on his own.
Whatever the case, the tales of the Mad Prophet of Antonidas slipped from fact, into rumor, and into legend, and would have completely vanished had the prophet not reappeared some time later to reclaim his rightful place in the world. Some say that the Mad Prophet had become a god himself, or an avatar of Antonidas, or a ghost, but in any case, could not leave his tower. Instead, the Mad Prophet attracted and trained an 'apprentice' who would be his representative in the material world. The Mad Prophet would keep only one such representative at a time, and these men and women, usually drawn from the ranks of his former monastic order, would act on the Mad Prophet's behalf, using the power of local legend and fear of the great unknown to achieve the Mad Prophet's motives.
While his apprentices have historically been mum on the subject, reasonable people who comment on the subject do not believe the prophet to truly be mad. His motives clearly involve the worship of Antonidas, even in this day and age when the Old Gods have all but passed into memory. When pressed on this issue, the prophet's representatives have let it be known that the prophet's motives are his own and often beyond the comprehension of mere mortals. The prophet's representatives have been well trained and treated well, though a few have strayed and attempted to betray their master's trust, only to meet with an untimely end.
The monks of Black Rock Monastery have a vested interest in keeping the story of the Mad Prophet alive, as it is whispered in places that the prophet knows secrets that can bring down the order, and it is only a matter of time before the prophet lets these secrets become public knowledge. It is for that reason that the monastery continues to perpetuate the stories of the prophet's madness; it is for their own survival.[/sblock]
Last edited:
Creamsteak
Explorer
I didn't respond to everyone's comments I realize, it's a lot to sit there and break down the implications of whats there.Bloodweaver1 said:
The main thought in the back of my head while reading either of your backgrounds was that it just didn't sound like this could happen here. In the case of the one I liked more (the soul-knife) I feel that undead are not going to take a major part in the setting. I like your classes and the general theme, but at the moment I'm not too interested in focusing on any sort of undead elements beyond extreme cases (ancient sand lich of doom). As far as the warforged goes, I just don't invision a warforged in this setting having those concerns that seem much more based on the eberron lore around them. I'd like warforged here to represent specially constructed constructs for some purpose rather than members of a group/village/army.
Insight
Adventurer
Creamsteak said:
Now that I've posted a history of the Mad Prophet, I want to specifically answer your questions.
1a. The being is known to pretty much everyone as the Mad Prophet. Zun would call him Master most likely; he is by no means on familiar terms with the Mad Prophet and would not call him by any proper name.
1b. Part of the power and influence the Mad Prophet has in the world is that his madness is unpredictable, and he uses the fear of the unknown, as well as the perceived depth of his power (his longevity for example) to get what he wants. Whether he is truly mad or not is immaterial as long as the face of it works to acheive his goals.
2. Is he really mad? That's a very good question. It depends on your perspective. Many would believe him to be mad because he follows and espouses the beliefs of one of the Old Gods. His methods may seem insane to some people. The prophet may be delusional, he might be hearing voices, he's probably paranoid, so I guess on some levels, he's mad. But the prophet's not a schizophrenic or split personality or irrational, anything along those lines. He pretty much uses the 'Mad Prophet' thing to get what he wants from people.
3. Yes, there is some truth to that. The Black Rock Monastery continues to perpetuate the 'Mad Prophet' story, to cover for their own weaknesses. The prophet has on some levels accepted that he will be seen as mad to some, and that his word will only appeal to a select few who can see through the lies put forth by his enemies.
EDIT: BTW, I am perfectly OK with altering the last bit of Zun's background to fit in with why he would be traveling with the group. He could even have a secret reason to be doing so.
Creamsteak said:
So how about if I have him come from a group of people who were caught during one of those instanteneous changes. Bewildered by the sudden change, many descended into madness and begin to worship the desert as a spiritual force. There were those who rose up and became the spiritual anchors of those who were confused.
pathfinderq1
First Post
Revised/refined concept- Suvarion
I have reworked my original psion concept a bit- perhsps this version would fit in a little better. The core of the character is still the same- an elan psion and living weapon from before the great catastrophe, set loose to wander in a very strange and different land, but I have toned down some of her sharper edges to make her more workable in a group setting.
Name: Suvarion (once known as Suvarion Skybreaker)
Race/gender/class: elan female psion (kineticist) 14
Note: Given her background, it might be likely that scholars of history or similar lore might have heard of her previous incarnation as a living weapon of enormous power- much to her embarrassment, as her current task to to find out what caused the catastrophe (and to see if it can be fixed, or to do good works in penance).
Background: The two figures stood high on a cliff, looking out over a blasted waste of grey dunes, dotted here and there with crumbling towers of rough stone- obviously not natural rock formations. This was the deep desert wastelands- no one dwelt in this desolate realms, not even the maddest nomadic recluses, and the pair had traveled for days just to reach this point. The taller of the two (by only the slimmest of margins) seemed to defy reasonable precaution- despite the killing heat of the air, she was wrapped in a full cloak of heavy black material, unadorned save for a patch above the left breast where some symbol had been crudely removed. After a long time spent in quiet contemplation of the ruined vista before them, she finally turned to her compatriot, a withered and ancient elvish man in the paint and bones of a tribal shaman.
"We did this, you say?," the woman asked quietly, turning away from the eerie scene. "I knew that some answer might be found amongst your people, that perhaps even if no living memory remained, the elves would know- but truly, I hoped for some other answer. Any other answer than to hear that my folk were the authors of such destruction."
The elf shook his head sadly, the ritual beads braided into his hair rattling softly. "We do not know for sure what caused the great catastrophe- only that you, or those like you, wrought some of the local destruction that was but one part of the sundering. In some places, the devastation was as sudden as the sunrise- while in other places, it still seems to be happening, as sickly grey dunes creep across what was healthy land." He paused, still staring out across the sky towards the nearest of the towers. "That was a dwelling place, you said? It is hard to conceive of folk dwelling together on such a scale- even the magic of the God-Kings would be hard-pressed to support such a settlement."
Slowly, almost reluctantly, the woman turned to view the scene once more. "It was more than that. The last time I saw this place, all those towers and more of them that have vanished were all part of one city. Even the land between them was filled with smaller buildings and houses, all of this valley was one great community..." She drew a deep sigh, and her voice grew rough as if she were fighting back tears as the memories flooded through her. "It seems like only yesterday. We were the proud army, our least members capable of great feats of power, and we crossed over this very ridge- none of us thought to look back, for we were all so confident that we would soon return in triumph. None of us knew what we were headed into- the battlefields, the powers that were unleashed. If I had not been trapped within that terrible mindscape, I would have perished as well, like all my people... Instead I endured as the years passed- I cannot believe how long it has been, nor can I believe that those visions which plagued me for so long, were true scenes of what happened in the outside world. I had hoped, truly, that those were visions of my worst nightmares, sent to torment me in my hellish prison. Even when the walls of that containment began to fail, I still thought what I saw was illusion- but to be faced with this, and to feel that somehow I bear even the slightest shade of responsibility, well it would have been better if I had died."
The elven shaman looked at her with concern etched into the lines of his ancient face. "Not better, for then you would retain that responsibility through all eternity. You lived, as so few of your people did- yes, others survived the catastrophe, others of your undying folk. Most have been driven mad, or retreated to the dark places of the world- and other, stranger beings lived as well. But few have any care or concern for the world outside their own petty domains. You have seen where that leads, both in the desolation before us, and in the servants of the God-Kings that we met upon the road. Perhaps you lived for some greater reason- perhaps there is still work for you to do here. There are the true reasons for the sundering, yet to be unearthed, and there are many ways which you might seek expiation or atonement, for what responsibility or horrors still haunt your soul. There are good deeds to be done, Suvarion who was called Skybreaker- your name, after all, was not lost to time, for your powers were legendary in the Time Before. Perhaps your imprisonment diminished those gifts, or perhaps it is simply part of the trial that your life has prepared for you. But you can do much, more than simple folk like myself and my tribe. It is only up to you to decide what path to take- I am sure that the God-Kings might welcome a servant of such power, and I am equally sure that you might struggle against those false gods, with far more success than the refugees of the wasteland. I will leave you now, that you might stand beneath the stars and the wind and meditate upon your choices- both those you have made and those you have yet to make." Without another word, the old elf began to make his way back down the hill, towards the small band of warrior-scouts that had escorted them on their journey so far.
"You are right," she said finally, after hours had passed. She did not seem to realize she was alone, and the shaman and his escort had departed to return to their home. "There are questions that I must find the answers to, and deeds I can do to salve the wounds I bear upon my soul. Now I must begin..." With but a thought, the air seemed to boil around her, and the heavy black cloak belled outward like a great pair of wings as she rose into the air, ready to begin this new journey- it would be a long one, she knew, but time was one obstacle she knew she could face. Perhaps there might be others to join her upon the road...
I have reworked my original psion concept a bit- perhsps this version would fit in a little better. The core of the character is still the same- an elan psion and living weapon from before the great catastrophe, set loose to wander in a very strange and different land, but I have toned down some of her sharper edges to make her more workable in a group setting.
Name: Suvarion (once known as Suvarion Skybreaker)
Race/gender/class: elan female psion (kineticist) 14
Note: Given her background, it might be likely that scholars of history or similar lore might have heard of her previous incarnation as a living weapon of enormous power- much to her embarrassment, as her current task to to find out what caused the catastrophe (and to see if it can be fixed, or to do good works in penance).
Background: The two figures stood high on a cliff, looking out over a blasted waste of grey dunes, dotted here and there with crumbling towers of rough stone- obviously not natural rock formations. This was the deep desert wastelands- no one dwelt in this desolate realms, not even the maddest nomadic recluses, and the pair had traveled for days just to reach this point. The taller of the two (by only the slimmest of margins) seemed to defy reasonable precaution- despite the killing heat of the air, she was wrapped in a full cloak of heavy black material, unadorned save for a patch above the left breast where some symbol had been crudely removed. After a long time spent in quiet contemplation of the ruined vista before them, she finally turned to her compatriot, a withered and ancient elvish man in the paint and bones of a tribal shaman.
"We did this, you say?," the woman asked quietly, turning away from the eerie scene. "I knew that some answer might be found amongst your people, that perhaps even if no living memory remained, the elves would know- but truly, I hoped for some other answer. Any other answer than to hear that my folk were the authors of such destruction."
The elf shook his head sadly, the ritual beads braided into his hair rattling softly. "We do not know for sure what caused the great catastrophe- only that you, or those like you, wrought some of the local destruction that was but one part of the sundering. In some places, the devastation was as sudden as the sunrise- while in other places, it still seems to be happening, as sickly grey dunes creep across what was healthy land." He paused, still staring out across the sky towards the nearest of the towers. "That was a dwelling place, you said? It is hard to conceive of folk dwelling together on such a scale- even the magic of the God-Kings would be hard-pressed to support such a settlement."
Slowly, almost reluctantly, the woman turned to view the scene once more. "It was more than that. The last time I saw this place, all those towers and more of them that have vanished were all part of one city. Even the land between them was filled with smaller buildings and houses, all of this valley was one great community..." She drew a deep sigh, and her voice grew rough as if she were fighting back tears as the memories flooded through her. "It seems like only yesterday. We were the proud army, our least members capable of great feats of power, and we crossed over this very ridge- none of us thought to look back, for we were all so confident that we would soon return in triumph. None of us knew what we were headed into- the battlefields, the powers that were unleashed. If I had not been trapped within that terrible mindscape, I would have perished as well, like all my people... Instead I endured as the years passed- I cannot believe how long it has been, nor can I believe that those visions which plagued me for so long, were true scenes of what happened in the outside world. I had hoped, truly, that those were visions of my worst nightmares, sent to torment me in my hellish prison. Even when the walls of that containment began to fail, I still thought what I saw was illusion- but to be faced with this, and to feel that somehow I bear even the slightest shade of responsibility, well it would have been better if I had died."
The elven shaman looked at her with concern etched into the lines of his ancient face. "Not better, for then you would retain that responsibility through all eternity. You lived, as so few of your people did- yes, others survived the catastrophe, others of your undying folk. Most have been driven mad, or retreated to the dark places of the world- and other, stranger beings lived as well. But few have any care or concern for the world outside their own petty domains. You have seen where that leads, both in the desolation before us, and in the servants of the God-Kings that we met upon the road. Perhaps you lived for some greater reason- perhaps there is still work for you to do here. There are the true reasons for the sundering, yet to be unearthed, and there are many ways which you might seek expiation or atonement, for what responsibility or horrors still haunt your soul. There are good deeds to be done, Suvarion who was called Skybreaker- your name, after all, was not lost to time, for your powers were legendary in the Time Before. Perhaps your imprisonment diminished those gifts, or perhaps it is simply part of the trial that your life has prepared for you. But you can do much, more than simple folk like myself and my tribe. It is only up to you to decide what path to take- I am sure that the God-Kings might welcome a servant of such power, and I am equally sure that you might struggle against those false gods, with far more success than the refugees of the wasteland. I will leave you now, that you might stand beneath the stars and the wind and meditate upon your choices- both those you have made and those you have yet to make." Without another word, the old elf began to make his way back down the hill, towards the small band of warrior-scouts that had escorted them on their journey so far.
"You are right," she said finally, after hours had passed. She did not seem to realize she was alone, and the shaman and his escort had departed to return to their home. "There are questions that I must find the answers to, and deeds I can do to salve the wounds I bear upon my soul. Now I must begin..." With but a thought, the air seemed to boil around her, and the heavy black cloak belled outward like a great pair of wings as she rose into the air, ready to begin this new journey- it would be a long one, she knew, but time was one obstacle she knew she could face. Perhaps there might be others to join her upon the road...
Last edited:
Bloodweaver1
First Post
Understood.Creamsteak said:
-Blood
EvolutionKB
First Post
[sblock=background]Viron walked through the desert. The heavy armor and the shield he carried made his progress through the shifting desert sands difficult. He was not uncomfortable though. Through centering his own mind he was immune to the harsh desert sun, and the unforgiving winds that blew stinging sand in his face. He was looking for a small oasis that was nearby. As he strode atop the dune he was climbing he saw it.
*****
His mother was there, his father ran into the tent that they had called home for more than a week. The small oasis were hard to find in the desert. If it wasn't for the predators that came here to hunt for food, Viron and his family would have stayed here for the remainder of their lives. His father grabbed his spear and shield. "Run, escape from here!" he cried as he ran out of the tent. "The agents of the God-King come!" Viron and his mother ran from the tent, all they had clutched in their arms. They quickly mounted a camel and began to rid away. They could see the agents of the God-King coming atop their tusked behemoths. They would make short work of the people that had set up temporary homes in the oasis. Viron and his people were considers outsiders, barbarians by the God-King. As Viron's camel rode away from the cool shelter of the trees, he could here the trumpeting of the great mounts of the agents of the God-King. Their loud footfalls echoed in the silence of the desert, as did the the death cries of those who stood in defense of the women and children, including Viron's father.
****
This was it. Viron hated to do it. After they had ran, Viron and his mother had taken up residence in the city of the God-King. There they were rebels, hiding in the shadows of buildings and fighting the God-Kings power. One of Viron's goals is to bring life to the desert once more. Viron knew through the stories of his people life was not always like he knew it. Thus it hurt him much to call upon the great winds. They assaulted the oasis, first at first it had little effect, then several great splitting sounds came, and many trees bent and broke under the great pressure of the gale. The oasis was exposed and the remainder of the God-Kings agents were exposed. A ball of fire erupted around Viron as the agents mounted an offensive counterattack, but it pained him little as Viron's psychic power manifested. It burned little more than sticking ones hand into a bonfire. Viron stepped back behind the dune and conjured his own firepower. A small group of elemental guardian's appeared in a blast of flame. Each guardian strode up the dune and fired a ray of flame at the guardians of the oasis.
The winds didn't relent for long. Viron once again called upon his mental powers, and winds stopped the tusked elepants from trampling up the dune at Viron. A moment after, Viron's skin became as leathery as the crocodiles that swam in the rivers of the desert. Viron was deadly as time slowed to a crawl for him. His spear turned black as he charged inside the reach of the elephant's deadly tusks, thrusting with his spear. The elephant stood as a guardian, turned to stone by the mental powers of the spear. Viron stuck again with the spear and the rider turned to stone as well. The winds persisted and knocked the elephant rider off the backs of their mounts. The summoned elemental struck again dazing the elephants. A few elephants struck him Viron, but he merely healed the wounds with a thought, before plunging the spear into them as they became cold hard stone.
His mission done Viron went about cleaning the oasis as best he could. He planted new trees and gathered the supplies of his enemies. He would continue the cleansing of the desert, and doing his best to spread the life of the oasis' through the sands. Hopefully in his lifetime, the winds would destroy the stone guardians he had left and make room for a forest of life and prominence outside the cities of the God-Kings.[/sblock]
Viron is a dark skinned native of the desert. He moved to a city of a God-King at a young age and learned of their evil intentions. He is clad in a heavy plate armor and a shield floats next to him. A longspear rests easily in his arms. He is faintly scarred from many battles, but through the powers of his mind, the scars are faint. He cares about others and wishes to heal their wounds, but knows to save his allies the best idea is to take his enemies attention away from them. He seeks to spread life through the sands, whether that be by expanding oasis' or by killing those that would harm the life of the desert.
*****
His mother was there, his father ran into the tent that they had called home for more than a week. The small oasis were hard to find in the desert. If it wasn't for the predators that came here to hunt for food, Viron and his family would have stayed here for the remainder of their lives. His father grabbed his spear and shield. "Run, escape from here!" he cried as he ran out of the tent. "The agents of the God-King come!" Viron and his mother ran from the tent, all they had clutched in their arms. They quickly mounted a camel and began to rid away. They could see the agents of the God-King coming atop their tusked behemoths. They would make short work of the people that had set up temporary homes in the oasis. Viron and his people were considers outsiders, barbarians by the God-King. As Viron's camel rode away from the cool shelter of the trees, he could here the trumpeting of the great mounts of the agents of the God-King. Their loud footfalls echoed in the silence of the desert, as did the the death cries of those who stood in defense of the women and children, including Viron's father.
****
This was it. Viron hated to do it. After they had ran, Viron and his mother had taken up residence in the city of the God-King. There they were rebels, hiding in the shadows of buildings and fighting the God-Kings power. One of Viron's goals is to bring life to the desert once more. Viron knew through the stories of his people life was not always like he knew it. Thus it hurt him much to call upon the great winds. They assaulted the oasis, first at first it had little effect, then several great splitting sounds came, and many trees bent and broke under the great pressure of the gale. The oasis was exposed and the remainder of the God-Kings agents were exposed. A ball of fire erupted around Viron as the agents mounted an offensive counterattack, but it pained him little as Viron's psychic power manifested. It burned little more than sticking ones hand into a bonfire. Viron stepped back behind the dune and conjured his own firepower. A small group of elemental guardian's appeared in a blast of flame. Each guardian strode up the dune and fired a ray of flame at the guardians of the oasis.
The winds didn't relent for long. Viron once again called upon his mental powers, and winds stopped the tusked elepants from trampling up the dune at Viron. A moment after, Viron's skin became as leathery as the crocodiles that swam in the rivers of the desert. Viron was deadly as time slowed to a crawl for him. His spear turned black as he charged inside the reach of the elephant's deadly tusks, thrusting with his spear. The elephant stood as a guardian, turned to stone by the mental powers of the spear. Viron stuck again with the spear and the rider turned to stone as well. The winds persisted and knocked the elephant rider off the backs of their mounts. The summoned elemental struck again dazing the elephants. A few elephants struck him Viron, but he merely healed the wounds with a thought, before plunging the spear into them as they became cold hard stone.
His mission done Viron went about cleaning the oasis as best he could. He planted new trees and gathered the supplies of his enemies. He would continue the cleansing of the desert, and doing his best to spread the life of the oasis' through the sands. Hopefully in his lifetime, the winds would destroy the stone guardians he had left and make room for a forest of life and prominence outside the cities of the God-Kings.[/sblock]
Viron is a dark skinned native of the desert. He moved to a city of a God-King at a young age and learned of their evil intentions. He is clad in a heavy plate armor and a shield floats next to him. A longspear rests easily in his arms. He is faintly scarred from many battles, but through the powers of his mind, the scars are faint. He cares about others and wishes to heal their wounds, but knows to save his allies the best idea is to take his enemies attention away from them. He seeks to spread life through the sands, whether that be by expanding oasis' or by killing those that would harm the life of the desert.
